


There's Still Time

by Ebozay



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Coma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Growing Up Together, Pain, Suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-15 00:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13019880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebozay/pseuds/Ebozay
Summary: Clarke hated the fact that the only things keeping Lexa alive were the machines that whirred through the hospital room, and with only her memories of their shared past, Clarke found herself struggling to hold on to hope with each new day. But she wouldn’t give up. Not when lexa still had time. Until one day she wouldn’t.





	1. Seven

Clarke’s eyes traced the light as it bounced off the tile. She thought it bright, piercing enough that it should have hurt, should have made her eyes water and sting and burn. But she thought her eyes not quite so capable of any of that anymore, she thought much of that not quite so possible. Not now, anyway, not when the smell of death lingered in the air, not when her fingers trembled, not when her eyes felt dry and itched and raw and numbed to whatever things she was sure flitted past her gaze.

And she hated it. She hated the way she felt, she hated the way her mouth tasted, whatever toothpaste she had used leaving behind an acidic burn that did little to distract from the pain. She hated the way her back ached from sleeping in that chair all those nights, she hated the way her neck cramped and her body shivered in the too cold nights she had found awaited her. But most of all? She hated the hurt and hopelessness that seemed to bleed into her waking moments.

And so she paused outside the door. She paused long enough that she thought she may turn, may flee, may even try to pretend. Just for a moment, just for long enough that she could remember what it felt to not feel anymore.

But she watched as her hand reached out, she watched as fingers curled around the doorknob, and she watched as her eyes blurred and she listened as her heart began to break. 

Again.

 

* * *

 

 

It was cold, it was cool, the snow drifted down just a little as her feet continued to fight through the shallow blanket of snow. But Lexa didn’t mind. She never did, not when the land shone brightly in the light of overhead warmth. But maybe Lexa could resent, maybe she could feel frustrated at the way her hands were smothered in the mitts, in the way her fingers were useless. And as she swiped at a strand of hair, as she tried to tuck it back under her hood, she knew she heard the laugh and the chuckle and the warmth of his laugh.

“Need a hand?” and Lexa looked up, she squinted through the haze of light and she glared. For she knew he was smiling at her, she knew he was finding joy in her predicament, in her inability to do things for herself.

“No,” and Lexa huffed at the hair that seemed to freeze to the tip of her nose.

And so the man took her hand in his and continued to guide her through the carpark, his steps slower now, more cautious as they crossed ice and sleet and melting snow.

It didn’t take them long before they began to approach the doors, and Lexa looked up. She looked up and she let her gaze take in the familiar neon sign, the way the light would flicker just a little, the way the blue seemed to border on a purple, or a red depending on when and where and how long she looked upon it. But she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind its imperfect life, she didn’t mind the way the rust seemed to cling to the bolts that kept the sign attached. If only because she thought it gave it character, if only because she thought it spoke of life, of the times she had been to this very place. 

“They need to fix that sign,” and she looked up at the man’s face again, and she saw him eyeing it cautiously, she saw him frown just a little as his chin raised. 

“Why?” she asked, and she thought her voiced sounded small, sounded dwarfed as it followed his rumble, his depth and baritone.

“It might fall,” he shrugged as he looked down at her.

And Lexa frowned, she tilted her head and she tried to imagine the sign falling, crashing and clanging. 

“It might fall?” she asked.

“And crush little girls,” and he poked her shoulder. “And that would be very bad, wouldn’t it, Lex?” and she heard him laugh as she glared.

“I’m not little,” she said. 

“You’re not little?” and she thought he must have been teasing, she thought he must have been joking. 

“No,” she said simply. 

“Ok,” and he laughed, and she thought it filled with warmth.

“It won’t fall,” she finished simply.

And so the man tugged her hand lightly as he pushed open the doors, his eyes smiling and her own ears perking up to the sounds of skates slashing against ice and the sounds of laughter and excitement filling the air.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps the only frustrating thing about ice skating was needing to wait in line, was needing to simply wait. And Lexa could never quite understand why she couldn’t just come whenever she wanted, she couldn’t quite understand why she couldn’t just take her skates and enter the rink. If only because she thought she must have spent years of her life here, and she knew the woman at the counter recognised her each winter, she knew the woman at the counter had memorised the days she would come, the days she would spend hours skating in circles, hours moving and weaving and bobbing between the kids that were slower, that weren’t so sure on their feet, weren’t so worthy to enjoy what it was she enjoyed so much about skating. 

But she’d wait. Lexa would wait in line just like every other person. If only because he waited, if only because good people were polite people. And so she sighed, she hitched her skates over her shoulder just a little higher, and she let her mind wander and picture what it would be like when she was older, when she was old enough to play, to fight and to win. 

And as she let her eyes move from trophy to trophy, from image to image on the wall, she couldn’t help but feel a longing, to feel a thrill and an excitement at the way the faces smiled back at her, the way hands clutched medals and trophies. 

“When can I do that?” she asked, and she looked up to see him following her gaze towards the images that lined the walls.

“Soon, Lex,” he smiled. “But not yet. You’re too young to be playing with the big girls just yet,” and she saw him shrug before taking a step forward, one more person having been let through and into the rink.

“But I can skate,” she countered, and she eyed the way one girl held the stick comfortably in her hands. “I can shoot and pass,” and she knew it was true. If only because he had taught her, had shown her how to hold the stick properly, had taught her how to wrist shot, snap shot, even to slap shot — despite it not quite having the crack and the power of his.

“You can,” he laughed. “But they’re all a head taller than you.” 

“Soon?” she asked as she glared at that same image of the girl, her eyes smirking, her cheek bones high, the blonde tips of her hair muddy and messy and frenzied and her expression proud as she looked down at Lexa from where the image hung on the wall.

“Soon,” and he laughed again and she saw him pull his wallet from his pocket as he stepped forward once more.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps Lexa rued the day she had realised she couldn’t tie her own laces without asking for his help. Perhaps she resented the fact that the older girls were able to do it, were able to tie them tight enough without help from the parents. And Lexa knew she rued this day, she knew she resented needing help in this very moment. If only because that same girl from the image sat near her, that same girl effortlessly tied her own laces, effortlessly tied the knots and effortlessly smirked and stepped away with little more than a glance and a quiet lifting of her lips.

“Next foot,” Lexa heard, and she grunted out a sigh as she placed her left between his knees, and she watched as his fingers tugged and pulled quickly. “You’re growing too fast, Lex,” he sighed, and she knew it wasn’t to be taken as a slight or a curse or annoyance. And she knew it so, if only because he insisted that he mark off each day, each little increase with a pencil marking against the doorframe, the date and her height always quickly scribbled next to it as his eyes smiled proudly.

“Does that mean I get new ones soon?” she asked, and she knew that he knew exactly which skates she wanted, which ones would show the others that she could play, could skate and keep up with the fastest. If only because she knew herself to be the fastest. But not quite just yet.

“Maybe,” and he smiled as he tied off her skates and patted her head before rolling onto the bench besides her, his fingers quick to tie his own laces. 

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s feet took her faster and faster. Her eyes scanned each face she passed and she let the smile spread just a little more prominently across her lips. And she knew she needed to not make mistakes now, she knew she needed to be able to avoid each person she passed, even if it was just a general skate, even if it wasn’t a game or a competition. But she knew she needed to make a good impression on those that were already on the team, already playing, already older than her. And so she sighed as she passed a blonde once more, the other girl’s hand holding onto the side of the rink carefully, the girl’s father right by her side as she continued to take cautious step after cautious step. 

And maybe Lexa couldn’t help but scoff, couldn’t help but think the girl just a little lame. If only because you didn’t step when trying to skate. You didn’t try to walk. 

And so Lexa pushed off prominently as she passed the girl, she pushed off easily, her blades slashing through the ice as she glanced over her shoulder to see the girl glaring at her, to see the girl’s father merely eyeing his daughter, hands hovering just shy of her shoulders.

“What’s your name?” and Lexa started and glanced to her side to see that same girl who could tie her laces herself, that same girl who was in the image on the wall. That same girl who smirked.

“Lexa,” she said simply, her eyes only once glancing to the way the girl had her hands in her pockets, eyes not quite paying attention to where she skated.

“Lexa,” the girl repeated as she eyed her for a long moment, her body easily moving around a child who slipped and fell to the ice with a cry of shock. “Short for something?” the girl said as she fell back into sync with Lexa’s own movements.

“Alexandria,” and Lexa glanced around just for a moment to see her father eyeing her from across the rink as he made his own way through the crowds of people.

“Weird name,” the girl shrugged as she moved to skate in front, and Lexa merely glared as the girl turned and began to skate backwards, her eyes smirking easily. “Your dad used to play,” the girl finished.

“Yeah,” and Lexa eyed the girl for a long moment.

“He was good,” and the girl gestured to the wall of images at the entrance, “won a few trophies.”

“Yeah,” and Lexa couldn’t quite tell where the girl was headed with her questions. 

“How old are you?” the girl asked, and Lexa couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this conversation was turning into an interrogation, into a careful prodding, careful scouting.

“Seven,” she said, her chin raising. 

“I’m eight,” and the girl shrugged. “We need more people on our team soon,” and Lexa couldn’t quite dash the sense of hope that began to flit through her mind in this moment.

“I can play,” Lexa said simply. 

“You can?” and the girl glanced behind herself just once as she heard someone fall.

“I can shoot and pass and stop and skate backwards,” Lexa continued quickly.

“But can you play?” and the girl smirked as she glanced up and down Lexa’s body briefly before she turned and began to skate away. “I’m Anya,” the girl called over her shoulder as she slipped through a small gap in a group of children who tried moving across the ice.

 

* * *

 

Lexa woke to the banging on her door and the sun gleaming off her bedside table. It took her a moment to let her thoughts shift from sleep to alertness, and perhaps she let herself sink just a little deeper into her covers before the banging came just a little more loudly, just a little more forcefully.

“I’m up,” she called out, and she knew she heard the grogginess to her voice. And she was sure she heard the laugh and the steps that began to fade away.

And so Lexa rose, her eyes squinting and her hand rubbing at her face as she fumbled her way through her room and down the corridor, the sounds coming from the kitchen all she needed to let her know he was waiting. 

The kitchen swam in a warm light, the sun already beginning to stream in from outside as it dappled against the kitchen bench. Lexa’s gaze traced the patterns that seemed to reach up the window from outside, the cold and snow and morning frost in constant battle with the warmth that kept her mornings pleasant for only as long as she was allowed to stay inside before she needed to brave the elements outside.

“Breakfast,” he said and she smiled for a moment as she lifted herself into a chair and turned her gaze to the bowl of cereal before her.

“They want more people on the team,” she said simply, eyes meeting his as she saw her words sink in. “Soon.” 

“I saw you talking to the player,” he began, a hand carding through his beard as he sighed and sat opposite her, a cup in his large hand, and the scents of coffee making her nose twitch and scrunch up in distaste.

“Anya,” Lexa added as she saw him laugh as she recoiled just a little from the coffee.

“It’ll grow on you,” he laughed as he took a sip from the cup. “You won’t survive without it when you’re old like me.”

“Maybe,” and she turned her attention back to her cereal as she spooned a large bite into her mouth.

“Definitely,” he laughed.

“Never,” and she stuck her tongue out only for milk to dribble down her chin.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s feet wended across the ground, and her gaze followed the stone she kicked as it tumbled and bounced and rolled ahead of her. Walking to school had never been an issue. The cold had never bothered her as it had others, and she had always felt safe as she walked with the other students, the route taken the neighbourhood’s favoured one. If only because it ran down the main street, cars and houses and adults always present, always going about their own mornings, always in careful proximity to the children on their way to and from school.

And so Lexa smiled up into the sky as snow began to drift and flutter on the breeze, as the wind picked up and as it began to breathe a little more fiercely through her hair.

But a shadow fell across her face, and as she squinted past the morning sun she saw a halo of blonde hair that walked besides her, and a body not much shorter than hers wrapped in a large scarf, its ends tucked into a downy jacket, blue and far too large for the wearer.

It took Lexa a moment to register that the person looked at her cautiously, it took her a moment to register that the person was a girl, her nose reddened in the cold, and her hands clutched at the straps of a bag slung over her shoulders. Lexa’s eyes narrowed just for a moment as she let her gaze move from the face to the blonde hair and then back to the other girl’s face before recognition dawned on her.

“You’re the one who can’t skate,” and Lexa’s chin raised slightly, and she knew she felt the smirk that began to spread over her lips as she saw the girl glare and hitch the bag higher onto her shoulders.

“You’re the one who was showing off,” the girl answered simply. 

“It’s not showing off if you can actually do it,” Lexa challenged. 

“Yes it is,” the girl countered, her voice muffled by a scarf.

“Whatever,” and Lexa turned her attention back to the way she walked.

“You want to join the team, don’t you?” and Lexa looked up at the girl to see her still eyeing her carefully.

“Yes,” and Lexa thought answering a question as simple as that safe enough. At least for now.

“I think you’d be good,” the girl said simply.

That gave Lexa pause though. And as she tried to think of just how to respond she couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over the girl’s face for a moment longer, she couldn’t help but to marvel at the way the girl’s eyes shone a quiet blue in the sun and the way her hair seemed to fluff out from around the scarf and the large jacket that smothered her body. 

“You do?” and perhaps it would have been rude to shrug off the girl’s words, the way she had reached out and tried to start conversation in the cold.

“You can skate,” the girl said simply. “I’m still learning,” she finished as she looked away.

And so Lexa bit her lip and swiped at a strand of hair that she felt tickle her nose.

“Thank you,” Lexa said after a moment. And she felt that that answer was safe enough, was polite enough. “You should push out,” she said after a pause though, her mind turning back to when she had seen the blonde trying to skate. But Lexa saw the look the girl sent at her, head tilting to the side in confusion. “When you’re skating,” Lexa added. “Don’t try to walk. You won’t go anywhere,” she said. “Push out like this,” and she mimicked the motions in her next step, and she felt the girl’s gaze follow her legs as she mimed for a moment longer.

“Oh,” and Lexa saw the girl bite her lip cautiously before she looked away. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Lexa answered, if only because she was polite. Or perhaps just not rude. 

But Lexa saw the girl glance further up at another group of children before looking back, her eyebrows quirked together in thought.

“Clarke,” she said after a moment.

And Lexa couldn’t help but to frown and tilt her head in confusion.

“My name,” the girl added.

And maybe if Lexa was ruder, was less polite, or if she didn’t quite register that she thought the girl’s hair pretty, she would have said that the name was a boy’s, that she’d never heard of a girl called Clarke before. But she wasn’t rude. And so Lexa smiled, just a little, just a small thing that she thought shy and bashful and unfamiliar to the confidence she so often thought she felt.

“Lexa,” she said in answer, and she saw the girl — Clarke — smile behind the scarf.

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke with a start, her mind frantic and pained frayed at the edges. It took her a long moment to settle her mind, to force her thoughts  and heart to settle. But as she let her eyes stay closed, as she let the warmth she felt in her hand linger, she tried to hold onto the memory, she tried to hold onto whatever dream she felt slipping away. But she knew it would do so. She knew it would never, could never, stay for longer than it took for her heart to slow its beats. 

And so she took just one last shaky breath before her eyes opened to the pain she felt so often pierce through her mind.

Clarke took in a shallow breath as her eyes opened to the bed before her, and she thought the darkness of the room too bright for her. If only because she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt the brightness of a day without worry, without pain and hurt and anguish. But she knew things changed, she knew life would change. And she knew things were never permanent. But perhaps she had thought, she had hoped, and she had begged for her time to not be so soon.

But she thought life unfair. 

And so she sat up a little straighter in the chair, her eyes tracing the hand she held in her own, and she couldn’t quite let the fact that the warmth she felt wasn’t so real that she could laugh with her, could speak to her, could whisper and share thoughts and words of comfort. 

Clarke’s gaze wandered over the fingers that sat loose in her hand, and she knew she hated how thin they seemed. She knew she hated how motionless they were. And she knew she hated it. And so she pulled her gaze away, she glanced at the wall, at the clock that ticked away slowly. And she waited until she knew her voice wouldn’t break, wouldn’t die in her throat.

“Good morning,” Clarke whispered out into the quiet, the only sounds to respond the constant whirring and quiet beep that seemed to live freely in the room.

And maybe she half expected to hear a response though. Maybe she half expected to feel the fingers move in her hand, to feel them squeeze, to feel them tighten their grasp. But after all this time? She thought it not so likely. Not so certain. But yet, she thought she could hope. For what else could she do?

“Anya says hi,” Clarke whispered out quietly, her eyes falling to the faint rising of a chest. “Raven, too,” and she winced at the roughness she felt claw at her throat. “Raven apologises for not coming sooner,” and Clarke wiped her free hand across her face. “Work was busy,” Clarke added quietly. “But I said you wouldn’t mind,” and Clarke knew she wouldn’t. And maybe it helped to talk, though. But perhaps Clarke didn’t quite know who exactly it helped. Not yet, anyway. “Bruce misses you,” Clarke continued after a moment, her eyes tracing the lines of her cheek and the way the pulse in her neck strummed weakly, mutely, gently. “I miss you, too,” and she knew she felt her eyes begin to water once more, and she knew it pointless to try to stop the tears and the pain that seemed to always take a hold of her in moments like this.  “There’s still time,” she managed to force out past the hurt. “Please wake up,” but perhaps Clarke thought her words futile, perhaps she thought her words meek and lame on her tongue.

And so Clarke let her shoulders shake as the hurt took hold, she let her mind crumble as her vision blurred, and she let her heart break just a little more than it should as Lexa’s body didn’t quite do much more than survive with the help of the machines that kept her alive.

 


	2. Nine

 

Clarke’s thoughts drifted for a long moment, and she felt them try to settle, she felt them try to make sense, try to sift and sort through the turmoil. But she knew her mind couldn’t quite linger on something long enough that she could grasp it, that she could reach out and hold it steady, hold it close enough to mould whatever worries had taken hold within her brain into something more, something tangible.

Her eyes continued to follow the pattern of the wallpaper then, and as she followed a crease along the wall she let the sun blind her eyes, she let it take over her vision and she let it consume whatever it was that she tried to gaze upon. 

And she thought, or maybe she knew, that she was lost, not quite sure what to do now, how to proceed. But perhaps she knew she had fallen apart when it had happened. Or maybe she hadn’t stopped living on autopilot, hadn’t stopped going through her life with little more than the emptiness that seemed to linger in the corners of her mind.

But maybe talking would help to focus her ramblings. If only for a little while.

“I dropped Bruce off at Anya’s,” Clarke said into the shallow quiet around her. “I think he thought you were going to be there,” and she shrugged, she lifted her shoulder and she let it fall slowly. “I think he smelt you on me,” and Clarke pulled her eyes from the sun. “I almost snapped at one of the nurses today,” and Clarke found herself grimacing at the memory. “I got angry and,” and she looked away in thought, turned her gaze from where it had settled on a picture frame and started following the blades of a fan that spun around, and around, and around. And around. “And I apologised,” she felt her fingers tremble just a little. “I don’t think I even started yelling at her. But I said sorry for whatever I was about to do,” and Clarke squeezed Lexa’s hand for a moment in search. “She didn’t mind,” and Clarke didn’t think the nurse took offence. “But I tried to be polite,” and Clarke found herself biting her lip, and she found herself surprised at the tremble she felt, at the quiver and the pain and the blood that she tasted on her lips. But maybe she wasn’t surprised. Not after all this time. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Lex,” and Clarke shook her head, “I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do,” and Clarke let her gaze fall to Lexa’s face. And it hurt. It hurt to look at the tube that disappeared passed Lexa’s lips, it hurt to see the gauntness of her cheeks and the way her eyes didn’t quite flutter behind closed eyelids. And it hurt. “I don’t know _how_ to feel, I don’t know _how_ to think,” and she paused for a moment, for long enough that she could try to think of something more articulate, less numbed, less dumb and flaccid on her tongue. But all that seemed to bubble to the surface was that it hurt to not know. It hurt to not know if Lexa heard. It hurt to not know if she thought. If she still fought. And so Clarke shrugged with little more than a hollow ache to keep her company, “I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa felt the flutter in her stomach, she felt the way her fingers shook and she felt the breaths she took come in shaky, come uneasy and excited. She felt excitement course through her body and she felt the adrenaline that began to pump through her veins.

“Remember,” and she looked up at her father to see him eyeing her carefully. “Keep your head up, don’t focus on the puck the whole time,” and she saw him eye the way the pads fit just a little too broadly across her shoulders. 

And so Lexa nodded, she smiled and she couldn’t help but to feel an excitement build as she stood, her father’s hand ruffling her head over her helmet as she began to file out of the change rooms behind the others.

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa groaned lightly as her feet padded down the hallway. It had surprised her just how much she had needed to push herself, just how much she had needed to keep pace, to outpace the others. But she thinks she did well, and she knows she did, if only because the aches in her bones meant she had worked for every inch, every breath she had fought for. 

And so she huffed just a little tiredly as she fell into a chair, the sounds of sizzling and the slight groan of the wind outside all she could focus on for the moment.

“You played well,” and she looked up at the words to see her father eyeing her for a long moment from across the table, his body moving easily through the kitchen as he finished cooking dinner.

“I did,” and Lexa tried to stifle a yawn, tried to muffle it and keep it quiet. 

“I’m sensing a but,” he said though, and Lexa looked up to see him leaning over the kitchen bench, knife in hand as he paused mid slice.

“I missed the shot,” and she bit her lip in annoyance as she looked away, and perhaps for the first time she wasn’t so sure she knew how he’d react, how he’d respond.

“Lex,” and she heard him sigh as he moved closer to her. 

But he paused, and she looked at him, she looked and she saw him think for a moment. She saw him ponder his words, try to think of what to say, of how to say it. And she thought she saw the moment when he made a decision, she thought she sensed the moment when his mind solidified. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” she preempted, and she knew she saw him smile just a little, just enough that she knew that he knew. 

And so she smiled just a little as he raised an eyebrow.

“And what am I going to say?”

“There’s still time,” and she saw him smile just a little more firmly.

“And what does that mean?” he pushed quietly, his voice reaching out to her quietly, loudly, clearly through the small distance between them.

“It will happen if it’s supposed to happen,” she shrugged. 

“When,” he added, and she knew she felt her eyebrows quirk together.

“When?” she asked.

“When it’s supposed to happen, not if,” and she nodded for a moment as he stepped from around the counter and placed a small plate in front of her. “Now eat,” he said. “Clarke’s going to be here soon.”

 

* * *

 

“I saw your game,” Clarke said, and Lexa couldn’t help but smile, and she thought she did more of that these days, she thought her cheeks twitched a little more than usual in the presence of the blonde.

“It was ok,” Lexa said, and despite the smile, despite the comfort of the moment, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment, of annoyance at her performance. If only because Clarke had been there.

“You won,” Clarke challenged though, and Lexa thought she knew from the falter in Clarke’s gait that the blonde must be looking at her now, that she must be frowning, not quite concentrating on where she was skating. And so Lexa didn’t quite mind reaching out, didn’t quite mind taking hold of Clarke’s arm just to steady, just to guide the other girl.

“But I missed,” Lexa said as she bumped both of them around a child who fell. 

“There’s always next time,” Clarke challenged, and Lexa didn’t miss the way Clarke’s frown quirked her nose a little, the way it creased her forehead.

Lexa nodded then, just a little, and she knew to most that the gesture must have been hard to see behind the jacket she wore and the scarf that did little to hold back the cold she embraced. But she thought Clarke saw it from the way the girl smiled a little before she pulled her attention back to the way they moved across the ice.

“You got new ones,” Lexa said, her eyes falling the the white skates that hugged Clarke’s feet, that seemed a little too big for her, that seemed a little stiff, too tight and too loose.

“Yeah,” and Clarke smiled as she looked down, her foot raising slightly as she waved it in the air for a moment. 

And Lexa couldn’t quite figure out in this moment exactly how to say her thoughts, or maybe it was what to say, or to express. And so she frowned a little, she looked away in thought and she felt Clarke squeeze her hand just a touch tighter before she pulled her gaze back.

“They’re nice,” Lexa finished. And she thought the words safe. She thought the words friendly. Just right. 

 

* * *

 

Snow was never a problem for Lexa. Walking through it never bothered her, playing in it never made her regret her actions when her body dripped and shivered. If only because she embraced it, if only because she thought it something that let her know she lived and breathed and existed. And so she smiled, she laughed a little more freely than usual, and she dived to the ground as she felt the snowball fly over her head. 

Lexa scrambled to her feet then, and she hugged the ground, she kept low and she let her eyes dart from head to head that popped up, from fleeting glance to fleeting glance. And she thought she saw her target, she thought she saw her enemy, and so she scooped up a handful of snow, her mitts doing much to shield her fingers from the cold and she rushed behind  a tree and she smiled as Anya turned to face her, face reddened, hair freezing at the tips, snowballs in both hands.

“They’re winning,” Anya hissed, and Lexa couldn’t help but to laugh just a little at the way the older girl glared and snarled and sneered each time the piercing whistle and low thump of a snowball slamming into a tree trunk, or hitting an unfortunate child, rang through the air.

“We still have Lincoln,” Lexa answered as she peeked around the tree trunk to see the boy rising to his knees, snowball already halfwa— “Not anymore,” Lexa finished with a wince as she saw Lincoln recoil as a hand clutched at his face, the explosion of white sending him reeling.

Lexa’s eyes snapped to where she thought the snowball had been thrown and she saw a flash of blonde and she knew she heard the shriek of laughter and she knew she heard Anya spit a curse before sending a flurry of snowballs over the small berm that hid the enemy.

“Here,” and Lexa turned to see Anya passing her a small branch, its bark worn and battered from the elements.

“What’s this for?” Lexa asked as she took the object.

“You cover me,” Anya answered simply. “I’ll go first, and you’ll go second. We just need to get to their side and then we can beat them,” Anya said as she peeked around the tree trunk once more. 

“Ok,” and Lexa steadied her breaths, she let the stick rest comfortably in her hand, she let her mind focus on what she needed to do. And she knew she could do it, she knew it was no different than when she played, when she skated and passed the puck and so she met Anya’s eyes just once more.

And so Anya roared out, and Lexa felt her own voice join with Anya’s and then they both leapt from behind the tree. Lexa saw a head pop up, she saw Anya react, and she saw Anya throw a snowball. And Lexa watched. She watched as the clump of snow arced through the air, she watched as it whistled and spun, and she watched as it collided with the scarf wrapped face. And then Lexa dove to the ground, a snowball hissing past her head. And she saw Anya duck, and then Lexa found her feet again, her legs taking her closer and closer, Anya by her side as the angry girl threw snowball after snowball. Lexa felt the stick in her hand sing, though, she felt it begin to breathe in its movements as she started slashing at each snowball that raced towards them both. But Lexa didn’t flinch, she didn’t falter, she barely gave it a thought as she slashed each object out of the sky, the eyes of the other children widening in shock at their advance.

And then Lexa vaulted over the berm, Anya right by her side. Lexa looked up to see Raven wide eyed, hands clutching at a snowball that was half made, half ready to throw. 

But Lexa knew she needed to act, she knew she needed to do something, anything to succeed in her mission. And so she snarled out as she raced forward, her stick already raising, already readying to strike the clump of snow out of the other girl’s hand. And Lexa heard Anya yell out a warning, she heard the sounds of others, and she heard Anya turn to face them. But Lexa kept moving, her gaze meeting Raven’s, and she saw the girl’s eyes begin to close, she saw the girl begin to recoil, begin to dive out of the way. And Lexa was close, she was almost there, almost at the en—

Lexa felt the air knocked out of her and she felt her back slam into the ground as a weight settled over her. And Lexa had only a moment’s realisation of what was about to happen before she felt the snow slam into her face, before she felt it blanket her body and freeze through her clothes. 

“We win,” and Lexa couldn’t help but snarl at her defeat, couldn’t help but smile at the recognition of the voice.

And so she pushed Clarke off her chest and she cast her gaze around to see Anya picking herself off the ground, her jacket smothered in snow. She looked back to Clarke then, and she saw the girl smiling, hand still clutching another snowball as her gaze fell to the stick she still held on to.

“Are you ok?” Clarke asked carefully, and Lexa thought the girl eyed her face, eyed the slight reddening of her cheek from where she had been hit by the snowball.

“I’m ok,” Lexa answered, and she thought the words simple, true and safe. 

“Good,” and Clarke smiled as she stood and held a hand out for Lexa to take. “Come on.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s feet clipped against the tile as she moved through the halls. She thought it odd that she found it almost comforting doing this though, she thought it odd that she took refuge in wandering, in not thinking of much more than putting one foot in front of the other. And maybe she thought it was because she could pull her mind from whatever truths and worries littered her head. At least while she had time. 

She passed a patient who was prodding down in the opposite direction to her, and she nodded and smiled mutely, numbly, with little more than the effort it took to just acknowledge. But Clarke didn’t think the other person quite cared. And so she turned left down another hallway, and she thought she felt just the faintest smile, just the faintest recollection of times already lived begin to take a hold. Perhaps that was better though, better than the present. At least for those few moments she thought awaited her. 

It didn’t take her long until she entered the cafeteria, and as she looked around she knew she saw others who must have been feeling the same as her, she knew she saw others who waited for news, bad or good, for something more than just simply not knowing. But she envied them. She envied them if only because news would come, news would arrive to tell them, to let them know whether the tears they wept were for joy or for anguish. And she envied them for hers were for not knowing. 

A waving hand caught her eye though, and she smiled just a little less forcefully as her gaze met Anya’s from across the distance.

“Hey,” Anya said quietly, hand pulling out a chair for Clarke as she approached.

“Hey,” and Clarke didn’t do much more than shrug and sit down, her eyes only once meeting Anaya’s. 

“How are you?” and she felt Anya lean closer, she felt her rub a hand up and down her forearm.

“Good,” and Clarke knew Anya recognised the lie. She knew Anya knew. And she knew Anya wouldn’t say anything. Not just yet, anyway. If only because she still had time.

“How is she?” Anya asked as she pushed over a tray of food, but Clarke thought she knew the taste already, she could even picture the number of bites, the number of times she would chew before clearing the plate.

“Fine,” and maybe this time Clarke looked up. “She’s the same,” and Clarke did look up. She met Anya’s gaze, and she saw the shadows under the other woman’s eyes, she saw the pain and the tired and the hurt and worry. And Clarke knew that Anya felt just as much as she did. “She’s still the same,” Clarke shrugged, her fingers winding through Anya’s.

“She’s strong,” Anya said. And Lexa was strong. 

Was.

“Yeah,” and Clarke squeezed a little harder than she intended, a little harder than she meant to do. But Anya didn’t mind. Perhaps, and Clarke thought she may have been projecting, perhaps she may have been hoping, but perhaps she thought Anya needed the pain, too, needed to know someone else felt as strongly as she did.

“Bruce behaved,” Anya said as she brought a cup to her lips. 

“That’s good,” Clarke said as she eyed the cooling food in front of her.

“Tried to chase a squirrel,” Anya added after a moment. “But the snow sort of stopped him from going as fast,” and Clarke met Anya’s gaze, at least enough so that she knew that Anya knew she was listened to. 

“He didn’t cause a scene?”

“No,” Anya shook her head. “He’s lovely,” and she smiled, but Clarke thought it came a little halfhearted. “Like a big child,” Anya finished.

“Yeah,” and Clarke couldn’t help but look away then, couldn’t help but to want to snatch her hand from Anya’s grasp, to flee in that moment.

“Sorry,” Anya said as she felt her words sink in. 

“It’s ok,” but Clarke knew the lie must have been obvious. 

“Lincoln’s coming down soon,” Anya said simply, her thumb beginning to rub slowly over Clarke’s hand. “He wouldn’t miss it, said he’d bring something from back home.” 

“Tell him I said thank you,” and Clarke didn’t quite taste the food she spooned into her mouth.

“You can tell him yourself,” Anya said. 

But after all that happened, Clarke didn’t quite want to leave things to chance anymore, didn’t want to risk not telling people what she felt, what she wished she had said and thought and longed for. 

“I love you,” and it came out simple, it came out truthfully, it came out sudden and bizarre on her tongue. And she knew it surprised Anya, she knew it caused the other woman to think and to pause. 

“Clarke,” Anya said, and Clarke felt her lean a little away, she felt her squeeze her hand a little tighter. 

“No,” and Clarke pulled her hand away, she lifted a finger to stop Anya’s words. “Just let me continue,” and Clarke saw Anya nod. “I’ve had time to think,” and she thought she must have sounded morose, pathetic. “I never said it enough,” and Clarke knew Anya to not quite be someone who spoke of feelings, who opened up, who shared. If only because the woman showed her devotion through action and presence and comforting caring. “And with Lexa,” and Clarke thought her lip quivered just a little. “Sometimes I’d go to work and I’d not say it in the morning, sometimes I’d go a week and realise I hadn’t said it,” and she saw Anya clench her jaw. 

“She knew you loved her,” Anya said.

“Maybe,” and Clarke shook her head. “But I didn’t say it enough,” and Clarke reached out, squeezed Anya’s hand and smiled a watery, sad, lame thing. “So I love you. Thank you for being here, thank you for doing everything that you have,” and Clarke steadied her breaths as Anya’s gaze softened, as she tried to think of what she could say in that moment. “You don’t have to say anything,” Clarke smiled quietly. But perhaps she thought it came out sad and tepid. Just a little.

“You’ve done enough crying for both of us,” Anya said. And it was simple. It was Anya. And so Clarke felt the small laugh pass her lips, she felt the small chuckle and the faintest hint of joy warm her core. But only for a moment.

Clarke swiped a hand across her face then, and she grimaced at the tears that clung to her palm, to the way she was sure her nose must have been running, and to the sniffle she knew she heard.

“I’m just going to go to the bathroom,” she said, and she saw Anya nod.

And so Clarke stood, feet already taking her towards the bathroom. It only took a moment longer, but Clarke found herself in the bathroom, the sound of the door closing behind her the only thing to fill the room. Her hand reached out then, and she knew she gripped a little tighter than she needed as she turned the tap on, and it didn’t surprise her when she felt the pain, when she felt the burn as she let her hand rest under the water. 

But she knew what Lexa would say, she knew what Lexa would think, and she knew what Lexa would do. And so she kept her hand under only long enough that she could just barely picture Lexa’s shout of warning, her curse, and the way her feet would scamper over the tile as she tried to reach her, to pull her hand from the searing heat. 

And Clarke thought she could imagine Lexa’s fingers as they would curl around her wrist, she thought she could imagine the way Lexa would tug on her arm, and she knew the way Lexa’s gaze would look from her blistered flesh and back to her eyes before cursing her stupidity, cursing her lack of awareness, her distraction.

And maybe Clarke thought. 

But maybe Clarke knew. 

And Clarke did know. And so she jerked her hand back with a curse and a whimper. She let her free hand reach out, turn the heat to cold, and she placed her hand back under the stream, the coolness enough to take her mind from the pain and the hope. 

And so she let her eyes raise, she let her gaze meet the reflection before her and she tried to make sense of what she saw. She knew herself to be tired, she knew those shadows under the reflection’s eyes to be her own.

“Don’t give up,” and Clarke’s voice echoed out quietly. But she wasn’t so sure who she spoke to, who she reached for. “Don’t give up,” and she saw the reflection shake its head. “Not yet,” and Clarke knew she saw the reflection as it began to cry, as it began to shake just a little. “There’s still time.”


	3. Fourteen

Clarke always liked winter. She liked it because it let her wrap herself in the warmth of too long scarves, too large jackets and beanies and hats that kept the cold from touching her skin. But she thought she didn’t quite like winter. Not anymore. And so she sighed just once, just forcefully enough that she cleared her thoughts and then she turned her car left, her eyes scanning for a free park, her finger tapping lightly on the steering wheel.

And she felt this moment as something familiar, as something she had done countless times. Because she had. And so she knew that the easiest place to park was the furthest from the entrance, furthest from the warmth of the hospital’s interior. But she didn’t quite mind the walk. She didn’t quite mind how long it took, if only because it gave her more time to prepare, more time to steel herself, more time to think and to understand and to sift through whatever thoughts drifted through her mind. But she knew she always worried, always wondered if she would arrive only to find Lexa not breathing anymore, if she would arrive to find Lexa’s bed vacated, nurses and doctors ready to intercept, ready to comfort and share words of understanding.

But Clarke shook her thoughts, gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly, and pulled into a free spot. It was routine by now, though, and she knew how many turns of the wheel she needed, she knew just how far to reverse, just how slowly she needed to go before stopping. And so it didn’t quite surprise her when the car deadened, when the silence settled and her eyes began to water. If only because she never quite liked these moment.

Clarke wiped a hand across her face though, just enough that her vision cleared. But she paused mid motion as she saw a woman walk past. She paused as she saw a child walk besides her, and she paused as she took in the scene. 

And Clarke couldn’t help but smile, only a little, as she recognised the clothes the child wore, the large jersey, the emblazoned number and the too large pads that dwarfed the young child’s body. But Clarke winced as she saw the arm, the wrist that was bent at an odd angle, and she worried her lip as she saw the mother whisper words of comfort to the boy as she helped him cross the icy gravel.

But Clarke thought moments like that were character building, were pages in a person’s story that gave it depth and richness and experience. But she wasn’t so envious. If only because she didn’t quite like the idea of breaking a bone.

“It gets better,” Clarke whispered into her car, her gaze following mother and son as they entered the hospital. 

But Clarke wasn’t so sure who she spoke to.

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa’s eyes scanned the rink. She felt her heart as it beat furiously in her chest and she snarled at the sweat that she felt sting in the corner of her eye. She paused for only a moment, for enough that her opponent committed to the attack and then she moved. Lexa exploded from behind the net, her body turning just enough to shield the puck from the attacker, and she ignored the blow to her shin, her pads taking the force, and she ignored the sounds of skates slashing against ice that rang out behind her. She glanced just once to the puck on her stick, and she looked for just long enough that she knew she had it, and then her head came up. She saw one of her own at the centreline, she saw a defender checking another, and she saw the spray of ice that billowed up into the air as Anya started to circle, as she tried to make space. 

And so Lexa started moving. And the breakout was easy, it was fluid, simple, well timed, well drilled, and Lexa knew she had judged correctly when Anya peeled off, when she started moving down the boards opposite Lexa, and she knew she was back-checked when she heard Lincoln’s shout of warning. But Lexa didn’t mind, she didn’t care. If only because she knew she could out-skate almost any. 

And so she slipped passed a defender who tried to intercept, but Lexa saw Anya pull away in the time she used to avoid her opponent, and she saw Anya register the falter in their movements, and so Lexa moved. She began to move deeper into the centre of the rink and she saw Anya present her stick, she saw the other girl glance just once around her. 

And Lexa fired, she passed, she shot the puck towards Anya and smiled as Anya cradled the puck, as she crossed over the centre line. And Lexa knew she did well, she knew she’d get an assist, she knew Anya would score. And so she slowed just a little, just enough that she could glance around at the spectators, and she thought it funny that her gaze landed on Clarke who watched, her hair shining in the floodlights that illuminated the rink. It only lasted a moment, but Lexa was sure their eyes met, she was sure she even saw a smile that began to spread across Clarke’s lips. And she was su—

Lexa felt herself slammed into the boards, she felt her feet leave the ice and she felt the impact as she crashed to the rink with a groan. She cursed her momentary lack of judgement, of awareness, but perhaps most of all, she cursed the fact that Clarke must have seen her be bested by another. But she pushed the thoughts away, at least for now, and she struggled to her feet just in time to see Anya shoot the puck, just in time to see the goalie reach out with a blocker only for the puck to clip its edge before tumbling into the net. Lexa grimaced as she glanced over her shoulder to see a few in the crowd still reeling from seeing her impact, and she thought she saw Clarke’s palm slap her forehead before quickly stifling a smile as Lexa glared and turned back to the game.

“Eyes up, Lexa,” Lincoln said as he came to a stop besides her, his own gaze moving into the crowd briefly.

“Yeah, whatever,” and Lexa pushed off from the boards. “At least we scored.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa knew her shoulder would ache in the days to come, but as she trudged out of the change rooms she tried to push the thoughts away for the moment. And so she smiled, and she felt it linger more freely on her lips as Clarke pushed off from where she leant against the wall, her arms crossed and her head cocked to the side.

“How’s your arm?” Clarke asked, and Lexa felt her cheeks heat up a little, she felt the flush. But it wasn’t embarrassment, she told herself that much.

“Ok,” she answered with a halfhearted shrug.

“It looked like it hurt,” Clarke said simply, her eyes moving to Lexa’s shoulder, and perhaps Lexa thought Clarke tried to see through her mask, tried to read the pain that may have been present.

“Yeah, maybe a little,” and Lexa began walking once more, Clarke quick to fall into step besides her.

“You played well, though,” and Lexa felt her ears heat a little, she thought her eyes not quite capable of meeting Clarke’s gaze. 

“Thanks,” and Lexa was sure she mumbled the answer.

“Still going to hang around?” Clarke asked, and Lexa thought she heard something in Clarke’s voice, but perhaps she imagined it.

“Yeah,” Lexa answered as she hitched her bag higher onto her shoulder. “Just got to drop my gear off in the car.”

“I’ll come,” Clarke said simply.

And so they both continued walking and weaving their way through the crowd of people who had already began to arrive for the general skate, and those that had come to watch the game. Lexa wiped a sweaty hand across her face then, and she felt the eagerness to feel the cold of the outside, to feel the bite of air that would help cool her. But she knew Clarke didn’t quite enjoy it, didn’t quite like the chill, and she made to say something, she made to sway Clarke’s choice, to urge her to stay indoors. But as she turned to Clarke, as she let her gaze fall across the blonde’s face, Lexa found herself not quite sure why she paused, why she let her lips part only to close them with little more than a grunted noise.

“What?” and Clarke turned to look at her, eyebrows quirking together for a moment.

“Nothing,” and Lexa didn’t quite know what it was that seemed to settle into her thoughts.

“Cool,” and Lexa watched as Clarke bit her lip and turned back forwards, hands stuffed into pockets as she hunched her shoulders and pushed through the doors with a gasp and a curse as the snow and the cold and the chill hit them fully.

 

* * *

 

It was odd. Well, not so much what Lexa was doing, because she knew she could skate, she knew Clarke could skate, and she knew Anya, Lincoln and the others were somewhere within the throngs of people that packed the rink at this time of the year. But it was odd because Lexa couldn’t quite help but to steal careful glances Clarke’s way, couldn’t help but let her gaze linger for a fraction of a second longer than usual.  

Lexa watched as Clarke slipped through a gap in a group of children, and Lexa couldn’t help but admire the path the blonde cut as she began to weave in and out and around those that weren’t so sure on their feet, and she watched as Clarke turned, as she eased into skating backwards, as she pushed off with legs that were long, that were hugged by jeans that clung to her, that made her seem less like the girl Lexa had known for years, more like a wo—

“Lexa,” and she cursed out in surprise as Anya began coasting besides her.

“What?” Lexa snapped as she looked at the other girl with a glare.

“Whoa,” and Anya held up her hands. “Pump the brakes, dude,” and Anya’s head tilted to the side as she followed Lexa’s gaze. “Oh,” and Lexa didn’t need to look to Anya to know she was smirking.

“It’s not what you think,” she said. And she thought it simple. Safe.

“I don’t think,” Anya answered simply. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Ok,” and Lexa shrugged in answer, the motion only a little sore, a little stiff.

“That’s good,” and Anya glanced once to Clarke again before settling back on Lexa. “Going to be at the lake?” Anya finished simply.

“Yeah,” and Lexa thought she knew what Anya spoke of, and she thought she did as she saw Clarke continue to wind through the crowds of people with a smile, and perhaps Lexa felt a little unfamiliar emotion begin to take hold as she saw Raven join the blonde, and she knew she felt something when she saw both girls hold hands, as they laughed and enjoyed whatever words were shared between them.

But Clarke must have sensed her lingering gaze because Lexa saw her look around, she saw the blonde search, and she saw the smile crease Clarke’s lips just a little as their eyes met from across the distance.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s gaze followed the man as he walked across the ice cautiously, the steps he took careful and measured. And she didn’t envy him, she didn’t envy the bright orange safety vest he wore, and she didn’t envy the life jacket, either. But she could look forward to the next few minutes. If only because she hoped the ice was thick enough. 

“Must be scary,” Clarke said from besides her, the blonde’s legs stretched out in front of her as she lounged on the bench. 

“Maybe,” and Lexa glanced once to the man as he knelt on the ice, and to another who stood close by.

“Definitely,” and Clarke looked around at the others who gathered by the lake’s edge, and as Lexa followed Clarke’s gaze she saw others standing and sitting, some already tying skates on, others waiting to see if the ice was thick enough.

“Going anywhere for the holidays?” Lexa asked as she saw a child trying to run through the snow, the kid’s feet only just rising over it as he pressed forward.

“No,” and Lexa saw Clarke shrug for a moment before turning back to face her. “You?”

“No,” Lexa echoed, and perhaps she thought Clarke looked at her oddly, perhaps she thought Clarke waited for something, for her to act or to voice a thought. “Did y—”

“Ok,” and Lexa’s head snapped around to see the man waving his arms as he began moving back to the lake’s edge, the other already halfway back. “The ice is safe,” and Lexa thought she felt Clarke suppress a sigh or a grunt. 

“Come on,” Clarke said, and Lexa felt her hand be taken in the blonde’s as she lead them forwards.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t that Lexa was a visual person, it wasn’t that she made a habit of looking slightly too long at other people, and it wasn’t that she was having some strange epiphany in this very moment that she liked other girls, because she had known for an age that that was so. But as she followed Clarke’s movements across the lake, as she watched Clarke move easily, gracefully, peacefully across the ice, Lexa found herself not quite sure where to look, not quite sure that she should let her eyes trail along the lines Clarke made in the ice, that seemed to bleed up her legs, that seemed to draw Lexa’s attention. And maybe she couldn’t quite figure out if avoiding Clarke’s legs and meeting her eyes was easier, if only because she was sure her lips spread into a dumb, lame, stupid smile every time she did. And she was sure, she was certain, that her mind would do no good if she let her gaze settle anywhere below Clarke’s face.

But perhaps denying whatever thoughts that seemed to litter her mind was fruitless. If only because she thought Clarke smart and caring. If only because she enjoyed the way Clarke would occasionally look around herself, as she would take wider paths around those less sure on their feet, or the way she would smile at a child who remained less sure and steady on their feet. 

And maybe Lexa could appreciate those things. 

And maybe Lexa did. 

And Lexa thought it difficult to avoid looking at Clarke though. Especially in moments like this when the sun was low enough to blaze across the ice, when it would set the mist, that seemed to rise ever so slightly, aflame, that made it ripple in hues of purples that brought forth images of the deeps of the ocean, that made it shimmer in the reds of a sun streaked sky, and the golds that made her think of light that dappled through branches overhead, that made her think of the reds and browns and ambers and golds of leaves that would litter her way, that would signal snow’s fall.

But perhaps, above all, it made her think of Clarke’s hair, it made her think of the way it would shine and glimmer, the way Clarke’s laugh would seem to pierce through her mind, leave her open to being boarded mid game, leave her not quite focused enough to read the way players would move about the rink, would make her mind turn to thoughts not quite so polite.

But maybe it wasn’t so bad. 

Lexa laughed then, and she glared at a boy who glanced her way, but she laughed, if only because she realised that she spoke of colours, of how they interacted and mixed and did whatever coloured did when mixed together. And she knew Clarke’s habit of talking of her art, of spending time showing her what she had worked on, had sunk into Lexa’s mind. 

And maybe Lexa realised Clarke had taken hold of her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Clarke smiled lightly as she sat down before Lincoln, the man’s gaze careful as he took her in. But she thought he wouldn’t quite say much, wouldn’t quite pry too far, too deeply, if only because she thought him appreciative of quietly shared moments. And so she sighed a little as Lincoln leant forward, his eyes guarded and careful as he gazed around them for a moment.

“Octavia apologises for not coming down,” Lincoln began.

“That’s ok,” and Clarke didn’t mind so much, not after so long, and she couldn’t hold it against others for not being able to drop whatever they were doing. Not after all this time. “How are the kids?” Clarke asked.

“Good,” and Lincoln’s lip lifted a little as he settled into the chair more fully. “They keep us busy,” and he scratched his cheek for a moment. “Toilet training is good,” and Clarke laughed, and she saw Lincoln laugh a little, too, from the way his shoulders shook. “It’ll be nice when we don’t have to change diapers anymore.”

“Yeah,” and Clarke thought it would be. If only because babysitting would be less messy, would be less fraught with danger and smells she’d much rather not war with again.

“I brought you something,” and she saw Lincoln reach down into a bag at his feet then, “both of you something,” he said simply, and she knew he wouldn’t linger on his words. Not much anyway.

And so she smiled as he passed her a wrapped gift, and as her fingers brushed against it she thought it firm, and perhaps a picture frame.

“It’s not much,” Lincoln continued, “but I thought it’d be nice, I thought maybe it’d help.”

Clarke unwrapped it carefully, and she couldn’t quite hold back the gasp and the smile as her eyes fell to the framed photograph she held in her hands.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, and she paused then.

She paused and she let her gaze wander from face to face she saw. And she couldn’t help but laugh a little at the sweaty faces that looked at hers. And she saw Anya sporting a blood nose, she saw Lincoln’s poor attempt at a beard, stubbled cheeks patchy and rough, and Clarke saw the others that stood in front of the net, hockey padded shoulders dwarfing tired bodies, and heads of hair that clung to sweaty skin. But Clarke couldn’t help but not quite take in the other teenagers, she couldn’t help but to ignore them when she saw the green eyes that smirked at her, when she saw the way a proud face raised a chin and stared defiantly into the camera. And she couldn’t help but to feel an ache in her heart as she let her gaze take in the subtle roundness that seemed to still cling to Lexa’s cheeks, and to the way her hair seemed more unruly, more untamed, curls and locks flowing down her shoulders.

“It’s not the original,” Lincoln said quietly. “They wouldn’t let me take that one, but I managed to get a copy,” and she felt him reach out, she felt him squeeze her hand for just a moment.

“Thank you,” Clarke said again, and she looked up to see him shrug a little and tilt his head in reply.

“It’s the least I could do,” he said simply. 

And Clarke thought the few short words they shared were enough to say, to communicate all that was needed. 

And so she sighed, a change of topic perhaps a welcomed thing. “Want food? Drink?” Clarke asked as she looked around, the late of the hour leaving few people in the cafeteria. 

“I’m ok,” Lincoln answered. “I stopped to get a bite on the way,” and he smiled an apology. “Thanks for the offer.”

“How long can you stay?” Clarke asked as she leant back in her chair a little more.

“Until tomorrow afternoon,” he answered, and perhaps Clarke felt a smile find its way across her lips. 

“Seen Anya?” Clarke asked.

“Not yet, but I spoke to her,” and Lincoln sighed for a moment as he looked up in thought. “I should see her tomorrow sometime,” and he grimaced a little. “She’d be mad if I didn’t see her after coming down.”

“Yeah,” and Clarke smiled, too. “She would.”

“It’s good to see everyone,” and Lincoln met her gaze again, and Clarke thought it was nice, it was good to see old friends, despite the circumstances. 

“Yeah,” and Clarke nodded for a moment as she let her thought wander. “It’s nice.”


	4. Sixteen

Clarke’s feet didn’t do much more than thump quietly against the carpet, the sound muted, dull, and not so rich anymore. It surprised her a little to find that she trailed a finger across the wall, the slight bumps and shallow coarseness of the wall’s surface doing little more than just existing, than just reinforcing the idea, the notion, the realisation that something was missing, something didn’t seem to exist anymore, something didn’t quite fill in those gaps and dips and bumps of life as it used to.

But Clarke was no fool. She knew herself to be more than the clueless, brokenhearted woman that she felt herself be. And so she paused for a moment in the middle of the hallway, she turned her head, and she forced her eyes to meet the ones that smiled at her in the image. 

And it hurt. 

It seemed to laugh in her face, it seemed to be cruel, to be insincere now that little chance remained of another picture like it existing.

“What?” she said aloud, and she couldn’t help but glare at Lexa’s face in the image, at the youth that still clung to her cheeks, that rounded them out, that didn’t quite reflect just how sharp, just how fierce she had thought Lexa would become. “You don’t have to gloat,” she said simply as she eyed the way Lexa held an arm around Clarke’s shoulders, the way she seemed to be challenging whoever gazed upon the picture.

Clarke didn’t know how long she spent looking at the photograph, she didn’t quite know how long she spent just standing in the dark hallway. But once she thought her mind was able to settle, once she thought her breathing was able to ease in a rhythm that wasn’t so desperate, she began to move. Her fingers already began to play with the hem of her shirt, and she pull it off as she crossed the threshold into the bathroom, the chill of the tile and the porcelain and ceramic bringing goosebumps to her flesh. It wasn’t so bad though. If only because she thought it reminded her of happier times when she was able to not worry about the futures.

Clarke stripped the rest of her clothes, and she only spared herself just one quick glance in the mirror before she let the heat of the water begin to warm the air around her.

And it was hot. But perhaps not quite so hot as to cause her pain, as to cause her to gasp out and wince and regret and resent whatever frustrations flittered through her mind. Clarke raked her fingers through her hair, the water soothing her mind a little as it beat down upon her shoulders. But a shallow breath seemed to break past her lips, and she knew the signs of panic beginning to settle, she knew the signs of desperation begin to take hold, and she couldn’t quite tell if this was how Lexa had felt, she couldn’t quite imagine what Lexa must have felt. But Clarke embraced it. She embraced the feeling that seemed to crawl over her skin. 

If only because she thought Lexa deserved it. 

It only took her a moment longer before her breathing slowed, before she was able to relax a little. She felt the cold press of the glass then, her forehead having found its way against the glass of the shower. And she thought she liked the contrast, she thought she liked the cold of it pressing against her cheek, and she thought she liked the heat of the water as it continued to beat upon her body.

And maybe she tried to imagine that the cold against her face was the wind’s bite, was the snow that would pelter her, and maybe she tried to imagine that the heat beating down onto her bare body was that of Lexa’s arms wrapped around her, was Lexa warmth as they embraced and held each other close.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s feet crunched against the snow underfoot, her eyes squinting just a little in the breeze that battered her face. Snow clung to her body just a little as she ducked her head, the sounds of skates slashing against ice already filling the air, and as she glanced around herself she saw others making the short walk, some with others, some by themselves. 

But Lexa stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, and she pushed aside whatever thoughts seemed to flit through her head. And she knew she felt the tremble in her fingers, she knew she felt the beat of her heart as it began to pick up its tempo with each step she took. 

And it wasn’t that she was nervous, it wasn’t even really that she thought things would and could go wrong. But perhaps it was the fact that Clarke had agreed, perhaps a little too eagerly, too quickly, to say yes, to meet, to spend time together.

But maybe Lexa didn’t quite mind. If only because it told her that Clarke had wished for the same, had wanted the same, too. 

And so she sighed, she let the cold air fill her lungs and she held it for a moment longer than she shoulder as she continued to push through the snow. And she saw Clarke then, she saw the blonde’s familiar blue jacket and tufts of blonde hair that waved in the breeze, she saw the white skates already being tied, and Lexa was sure a smile seemed to be spreading just a little more fully across her lips.

Clarke must have sensed her approach though, because the blonde looked up to her approach with a smile and a bashful wave before she made space beside her on the bench.

“Hey,” Clarke said simply from where she sat.

“Hey,” and maybe it was odd that Lexa didn’t quite feel nervous or scared or anxious. Perhaps it was because she had known Clarke for years, perhaps it was simply because she felt happy. “You look nice,” she finished as she glanced up and down Clarke’s body.

But Clarke smirked a little, and she snorted, her eyes rolling as she patted the bench before sliding over.

“I’m wearing almost exactly the same as yesterday,” Clarke said as she ducked her head once more, fingers turning back to the laces of her skates.

“You looked nice yesterday, too,” Lexa challenged as she unslung her own skates from over her shoulder.

“Dad knew something was up,” Clarke said after a moment, eyes glancing around them briefly. 

“He did?” Lexa asked.

“Yeah,” and Lexa was sure Clarke blushed a little, the cold not quite so responsible. “He gave me this look when I asked to be dropped off instead of him hanging around.”

“Oh,” and Lexa looked away slightly, just enough that she could see a child slide across the lake’s frozen surface in the distance.

“It wasn’t a bad look,” Clarke amended with a sigh. “But I could tell he was trying to figure out who it was,” and she grimaced a little. “I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re Raven, though,” Clarke finished with a small laugh.

“I could think of worse people,” and Lexa bit her lip slightly in thought, and perhaps she didn’t quite know how to act at the thought of Raven and Clarke together.

But Clarke smiled at her then, her hand reaching out to squeeze Lexa’s for a second as their eyes met. 

“I’m happy we did this,” Clarke said, and Lexa thought she could see the ease in Clarke’s eyes and the happiness in her words.

“Me too,” and Lexa was.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps the first thing Lexa noticed was that her hands were sweating. And it wasn’t that it was hot, it wasn’t that she was hot, if only because the temperature was below freezing, was so low that she was sure her hair would freeze if it weren’t for the beanie she had on. But she knew her hands were sweating. And especially her left. She grimaced as she felt Clarke squeeze her hand once more, but perhaps she could find comfort in the fact that she wore mitts. If only a little. 

And she knew she was nervous, she knew her heart was beating a little too quickly now, a little too rapidly for the act of merely holding hands.

But yet.

Who could blame her? Who would have? 

If only because she held hands with Clarke as they made their way across the frozen lake, the sounds of their skates mixing with that of others who lived in their own bubbles, in their own small lives.

“So,” and Clarke’s voice trailed off as she began to direct them both around a frozen clump of snow. “You’re talkative,” she finished.

Lexa couldn’t help but grimace then, just a little. 

“Sorry,” and she knew her voice came out a little shaky then.

“You aren’t nervous, are you?” Clarke said, and Lexa thought she heard the tease in the blonde’s voice.

“No,” it was safe. It was a lie, but it was safe.

“I see,” and Lexa knew she saw the smirk begin to spread across Clarke’s lips as the blonde tugged her hand and directed closer to the lake’s edge. “So you aren’t nervous?”

“No,” Lexa repeated, her eyebrows quirking together.

“Really?” and Lexa felt Clarke slide a little closer, she felt the blonde press herself just a little closer than needed.

“I am not nervous,” Lexa repeated, and she swallowed hard.

“So if I did this?” and Lexa knew her face started to flush, and she knew she felt the tips of her ears begin to burn as Clarke reached around and pulled them even closer, her arm resting against her waist.

Lexa couldn’t help but let her mind begin to wander, she couldn’t help but focus on the way Clarke’s body felt pressed against her, even through the layers they both wore. But the thing that made Lexa break, that made her lose her composure was the moment Clarke lent in a little closer still, her lips only just ghosting against what little of her neck was exposed.

“What about n—”

And Lexa fell, she slipped and she was sure she let out an undignified squeal as she felt the ice reach up and meet her forcefully.

“I’m ok,” she hissed as she struggled to her feet, her face flushed, and her cheeks burning.

But she heard Clarke laugh, she heard the blonde try to stifle the sounds and she felt a hand help pull her to her feet.

“Not nervous, huh?” and Lexa knew, she knew the smirk and the way Clarke’s eyebrow must have been raised.

“Shut up,” and Lexa glared.

Lexa found her feet then, and as she met Clarke’s gaze she saw the blonde smiling at her, eyes sparkling just a little more brightly in the sun.

“Sorry,” Clarke whispered, and Lexa was sure Clarke’s eyes gazed downwards for a moment.

“It’s ok,” Lexa answered, and she was sure her own eyes drifted down.

“So,” and Clarke trailed off as she bit her lip, eyes glancing around them for a moment before snapping back to Lexa.

And perhaps it was the giddy feel that Lexa felt in this moment, perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline that had seemed to be raging through her mind. And maybe it was simply because she thought Clarke was Clarke. 

And so she reached out, her hand took a hold of Clarke’s waist, and she saw Clarke’s eyes widen, she saw Clarke’s lips part just a little, just enough. And Lexa took in a breath, she steeled herself and she leant forward, her motions slow enough that Clarke could pause her, could lean back, could avoid whatever was to come. But she didn’t, and Lexa let their gaze hold for just a moment longer before her eyes closed.

And she smiled. 

She felt her lips press against Clarke’s, and it was careful, it was bashful, breathless even, and she was sure she felt Clarke tremble a little, and she knew she felt herself tremble, too. And she was sure it wasn’t from the cold, she was sure it wasn’t from being outside.

But maybe she didn’t care.

 

* * *

 

“How was it,” and Lexa looked up from where she sat to see her father glance at her briefly before turning his eyes back to the road.

“Good,” she said, and she was sure her lips pulled up a little at the corners, she was sure she must have had a stupid smile across her face.

“I see,” and she saw him scratch at his beard briefly before he chuckled to himself. “Jake called,” he finished.

“He did?” and Lexa’s eyes narrowed a little.

“Yeah,” and she watched as her father’s eyes glanced left and right before taking a turn. “He had some questions,” he continued as he slowed the car.

“Like?” and Lexa worried her lip for a moment as she thought of what Clarke had said.

“Well,” and her father scratched his beard. “He asked whether you were out,” and she saw him smile a little. 

“And?”

“And I told him you were,” and Lexa winced. 

“And then?”

“And then he asked where you were,” and Lexa felt he stomach churn a little.

“And what did you say?”

“I told him you were at the lake,” and she heard him laugh a little more fully at the scowl that began to spread across her face. “He asked about Raven, asked if she was going to be there, too.”

“He knows doesn’t he?” and Lexa sighed.

“Yeah,” and she saw her father look at her quickly. “I’m pretty sure he put two and two together,” and she sighed a little more forcefully. “Be prepared for a lot of jokes at your expense next time everyone meets up,” and she looked up to see him eyeing her. “I’m pretty sure Jake was just relieved it wasn’t Raven, he’s had enough of her setting fire to their backyard to last a lifetime.”

“He’s not mad?” and Lexa let her gaze wander out the window.

“Not at all, Lex,” and she felt her father reach over a squeeze her shoulder for a moment. “I think he was just disappointed you guys didn’t tell him.”

“Yeah,” and Lexa smiled a touch more widely as she turned back to her father. 

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s feet thumped against the ground as she turned the corner, her eyes quick to find Bruce’s face in the window. She smiled and she waved as she saw him bounce up a little before ducking out from behind the curtains, and she knew he would be waiting for her to open the door. And she knew his tail would wag, and that he would smell her hand and recognise Lexa’s scent. But it pained her to know Bruce would peer behind her, would search for Lexa only to be disappointed. And perhaps she thought she would take him out for an extra long walk someday soon. If only because she thought she’d have a little more free time in the days to come.

Her keys scraped against the lock, and she heard Bruce scamper, his nails clipping against the floor. Clarke smiled a tired thing, a quiet thing, as she pushed open the door and slipped inside.

“Hey Bruce,” she whispered as she knelt down onto her knees, hand carding through his golden hair. “I know, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she felt him sniff at her hand before whining lowly. “How was your day?” and perhaps Clarke felt herself falling into this routine too easily now, if only because she missed having someone to talk to, if only because she missed whatever it was she knew she missed.

Bruce grunted quietly as he began walking beside her, his body warm against her legs.

Clarke paused at the hallway table though, and she took the time to set her bag atop it and to kick off her shoes with a groan. And she thought it must have become instinctual now, she thought it must have become habit, a thoughtless task, because it surprised her when she ran a finger over the picture frame before trailing over Lexa’s smiling face.

But Bruce broke her moment’s distraction as he nudged her calf, his tail wagging just a little less enthusiastically than it should.

“I know,” and Clarke began walking again, Bruce happy to trot along beside her. “Gustus is coming soon,” she said, and she thought she heard Bruce perk up just a little at the name. “No jumping up onto him, Bruce,” and she glanced down at Bruce to see him smiling lopsided at her, tongue happy to dance with the swaying of his gait. “Gustus isn’t as young as he used to be, and you’re definitely too old to be acting like a puppy anymore.”

But Bruce merely shrugged. Or did whatever gesture a dog does that seemed close enough to a shrug. 

“I know you’re going to do it anyway, and I know Gustus won’t complain,” Clarke sighed as she entered the kitchen. “Just be thankful Lexa isn’t here or she’d—”

But Clarke paused. She paused as she let the words she had just voiced begin to seep into her mind. She felt her lip begin to tremble then, and she felt her eyes begin to water, and she knew she felt her hands begin to shake as her vision blurred.

It surprised Clarke to feel the hard bite of the floor dig into her knees and it took her a moment too long to realise she knelt on the ground, her knees aching to the drop. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care because the pain she felt already burning through her body was worse, the truth of her words seemingly screaming and tearing and thrashing through her mind. 

The scream that came next was ferocious to her ears, and she knew she felt pain explode across her knuckles as she slammed her fist against the fridge, the cold bite of the metal doing nothing to ease the hurt in her mind. 

Her shoulders shook then, and she knew her voice broke on the sobs that bled through her lips. Tears began to slip from her eyes and she tried to stop them, she tried to sweep them away, to steal them from ever falling, from ever existing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered out into the silence. “I’m sorry, Lexa,” and Clarke shook her head as she tried to imagine what it would feel like to have those arms hold her again. “I didn’t mean it,” and Clarke clenched her fists to her eyes, she pressed hard, too hard, too desperately. “I swear it, Lexa,” and she waited for _her_ voice, she waited for _her_ to say it was alright. “You’re not gone yet,” and Clarke tried to fight her breathing back under control, back into something more than the ruin that it had become. “I’m so—”

Bruce nudged her quietly, his snout pressing against her neck as his paw came to rest against her thigh. Clarke opened her eyes then, and she thought she smiled a watery thing as Bruce met her gaze, his eyes wide, and perhaps just a little watery, just a little sad to her.

“I know,” and Clarke smiled as she reached out with her uninjured hand. “I know,” and she scratched his head for a long moment, the only sounds to fill her empty home being the quiet sobs that seemed to leave her a little more cold with each breath. “I’m not giving up,” and Clarke smiled at him as he licked her hand. “Not yet,” and she pressed her lips to the top of his head. “There’s still time.”


	5. Eighteen

“How are you?” Gustus said as Clarke set a cup in front of him.

“Good,” Clarke lied, and she thought he knew from the way his eyes narrowed a little.

“I saw Anya,” and Clarke saw Gustus smile a little past the beard that seemed a constant.

“Yeah,” and Clarke worried her lip as she sat opposite the older man, his eyes happy to follow her motions for a little while.

Gustus looked around for a moment though, and Clarke knew he searched for Bruce, she knew he listened for the telltale sounds of his nails clipping against the floor.

“I can get him, if you want,” Clarke offered as she glanced out the window that led into her backyard, and she was sure Bruce was frolicking, tumbling and slipping through the snow that had already begun to settle over the frozen ground. 

“It’s ok,” Gustus answered as he turned back to her. “Let him enjoy the snow while he can,” and Clarke smiled at the memory of when Bruce had spent too long in the cold, how his hair had frozen at the tips, of how he had refused to come back inside unless he was bribed by far too much food.

“He never learns,” Clarke said as she eyed Bruce dart past the window.

“Or he knows he only has a few more weeks before it’s too cold,” Gustus challenged with a raising of an eyebrow. 

“Maybe,” and Clarke smiled past the rim of the cup she brought to her lips. 

And she knew from the way Gustus sighed a little, and from the way he seemed to sink a touch more deeply into his chair, that small talk was over.

“How are you?” Gustus said simply, and Clarke knew he studied her now, she knew he eyed the way her eyes would dart to a picture frame, or the way her fingers would whiten just a little around the cup in her hands.

“I don’t know,” and it was a truth, or perhaps half a truth. 

Because she didn’t quite know. Not really, anyway. She knew she felt pain, she felt hurt and loss and hopelessness. Maybe even regret for the things she had wished and planned and hoped for in futures less bleak. And she knew she felt hope. Just a little, at least. If only because she still had time.  “I—” but she found her voice choke a little, and she knew her gaze had landed on a memory, on a recollection of a happier time.

“Hey,” and she sensed Gustus pull his chair closer, his hand settling over hers. 

“It’s hard,” she began quietly, her eyes closing and her mind trying to settle. “I don’t know,” and Clarke shook her head a little. “I miss her,” and Clarke opened her eyes to see Gustus looking at her, his own eyes watery, his lip trembling a little more than Clarke had seen in a long while. “I miss her so much,” and Clarke felt her tears begin to fall, and she knew she felt her shoulders begin to shake.

“Me too, Clarke,” and Gustus took her in his arms, held her close, and Clarke couldn’t help but cling to him, she couldn’t help but let tears bleed into the shirt her wore. “All we can do is wait,” he said quietly, a hand beginning to rub up and down her back gently.

“That’s all I’ve been doing,” Clarke said, and she was sure her voice was muffled, watery and broken. “All I’ve done is wait and hope,” and she felt him squeeze her tightly, kindly, and perhaps she thought it seemed desperate, wanting, needing.

“I know,” Gustus said, his voice coming more gruffly now.

“How?” and Clarke pulled away only enough that she could meet his eyes, enough that she could wipe a hand across her face messily, and she found herself uncaring of how it looked, of how ugly, how dishevelled she may seem. “How do you keep going?”

Gustus paused then, and Clarke felt his hands take her by the shoulders, squeeze once as he thought of how to answer, how to voice whatever it was that drifted into his mind.

“My daughter’s a fighter,” he began quietly. “And when you came into my family,” and Clarke saw him blink a few times. “You became my daughter, too,” and Gustus smiled a little. “Lexa will keep fighting because that’s what she does, and I’ll keep fighting because that’s all I can do now,” and Gustus wiped the pad of his thumb across Clarke’s cheek as a tear began to fall. “And you’ll keep fighting, too, because that’s what you do when someone you love needs you.”

“But—”

“But,” Gustus cut in quietly. “If it comes to it then you will always be part of my family, Clarke,” and Gustus pressed his lips to her forehead for a moment. “You are as much my daughter as Lexa is, and I love you as much as I love her.”

And the words Gustus spoke were never a surprise to her, but she found that it always seemed to ease her mind, always seemed to settle her worries, and so she smiled, wiped the back of her hand across her face, once more uncaring of how it must look.

And as Clarke looked away in thought, as she glanced into her backyard she saw Bruce run past, she saw his tongue flapping with each bounding step he took through the snow. But she saw him glance once through the glass of the door, and she saw him double take, she saw him register who sat before her, and she tried to stifle a laugh as Bruce tried to change directions, tried to slow his steps, only for him to skid and slip and slide over the frozen ground.

“I should get him,” Clarke said as she looked to see Gustus smiling at Bruce’s antics. “He’ll start barking if i don’t let him in.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s hands shook, she felt the sweat and she knew her breath came out shaky and uneven. And she hated it. She hated this feeling, she hated the adrenaline that coursed through her veins.

And she loved it.

She loved the giddiness that seemed to rage through her thoughts, and she loved the way her breaths came out quickly, rapidly, breathlessly. And she smiled. She smiled as she walked the short distance from the car and to the door. And it was odd. It was strange. And it wasn’t that she hadn’t asked Clarke out before, it wasn’t that they hadn’t been on dates before. But perhaps this time it felt more real, more tangible. 

If only because she held a bouquet of flowers in her gloved hand, she had braided her hair into intricacies that would seem too far fetched, too complicated. But it was a special day. And so she smiled as she continued to step cautiously over the iced ground underfoot, her eyes scanning the windows in search of movement inside. 

Her hand reached out cautiously, and she took a steady breath as she pressed the doorbell, the chime ringing out lowly. And she waited. She took in one more steady breath, and she focused on her breathing, on doing a little more than just feeling the panic that seemed to be slowly building.

But the door opened, warmth from inside flooded her and she squinted for only a moment before she smiled and blushed a little.

“Flowers?” Abby said, her eyebrow raising happily as she stepped forward and embraced Lexa, careful to avoid the flowers.

“It’s not too much?” Lexa asked as she glanced past the older woman.

“No,” and Abby laughed quietly as she beckoned Lexa inside. “Clarke’s just getting ready.”

And so Lexa smiled a little more freely as she followed Abby inside, a hand swiping at a strand of hair that tried to escape her braids.

“You look lovely,” Abby said as she eyed the clothes Lexa wore.

“Thank you,” and Lexa bit her lip just a little as she patted down the rumples in the long coat she wore, the red of it severe and deep in the warm light that seemed to glow around her.

Lexa looked around for only a moment before she heard the telltale thump of feet padding down a hallway, and she thought she recognised the gait by now, she thought she recognised the way the steps faltered just a little as a breath was taken before stepping out from around a corner.

“Lexa,” and she smiled as she turned to find Clarke smiling at her from the hallway, the blonde’s eyes trailing over her body for a moment.

“Clarke,” Lexa said simply as she stepped forward, hand extending as she offered the flowers. “These are for you,” and she smiled as Clarke blushed a little. “Happy birthday,” she finished.

“Thank you,” Clarke said, hand reaching out to take the flowers, and Lexa was sure she felt Clarke’s fingers linger a little longer than usual against hers, and she was sure Clarke looked at her, eyes devilish in the light. “They’re lovely,” and Lexa felt her cheeks redden a little at the way Clarke’s voice seemed to lift a little at the end.

“You look beautiful,” Lexa quickly added as she eyed the depth of the blue coat Clarke wore herself, the ends of it reaching to her knees, the buttons doing much to keep the length hugging her body perfectly.

“You do, too,” and Clarke leant forward a little, her lips brushing Lexa’s cheek for a long moment.

“Off you guys go,” Abby said as she shuffled past them, hand already beginning to reach for the flowers. “I’ll get these into some water.”

 

* * *

 

The lights seemed to shimmer a little more forcefully past Lexa’s eyes, their beams a little unfocused, a little less sure and steady to her. But she didn’t quite mind, if only because Clarke seemed to exist on a plane that seemed more focused, that seemed shaper, more sure and steady to her. 

“What?” Clarke asked, arm happy to loop through Lexa’s as they walked down the street. 

“We’re both adults now,” Lexa said simply, her eyes glancing once to another couple that passed them. 

“Yeah,” and Clarke smiled a little as she bumped their shoulders together. “We are,” and she laughed a little. “Seems weird, right?” 

“A little,” Lexa shrugged as she eyed a neon sign that glowed and glinted through the snow that fell slowly as it sang on the breeze.

“I always thought it’d be a big deal,” Clarke continued, her nose crinkling a little as a snowflake settled on it. “I thought I’d wake up feeling different, feeling like something big was going to happen.”

“Yeah,” and Lexa nodded as she let Clarke’s voice take a hold of her mind. 

“But it didn’t” and Clarke swiped at her nose briefly. “No life changing event, no world shattering experience, no sudden life or death situations,” Clarke finished lightly.

“No,” Lexa nodded in agreement. 

“So,” and Clarke eyed another restaurant they passed. “Where are we going exactly?”

“It’s a surprise,” Lexa said simply, and she knew she’d find a glare beginning to settle across Clarke’s face, and so she already felt the laugh beginning to escape past her lips as she turned to face her.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Clarke said as she glanced up from her plate. “How’s the team?” and Lexa didn’t miss the caution in Clarke’s voice.

“Not good,” Lexa sighed. “With everything changing now, people are thinking it’s going to be too hard to keep it together,” she shrugged. “There’ll be younger people to take our places, but most of us are probably going to end it,” she finished.

“Do you want that?” Clarke asked.

“I don’t know,” Lexa shrugged. “I always knew it was either try to go professional, or move on to other things,” and she worried her lip as she looked away for a moment, her mind turning back the years. “But I’ll miss it,” she finished. “But it’s not like I didn’t know it wasn’t going to last,” and Lexa shrugged as she turned back to Clarke. “But it was nice.”

“It was,” Clarke nodded, her eyes twinkling.

“I’ve got more important things in my life now,” Lexa said simply, and she smiled as Clarke ducked her head. “Like Anya,” and she laughed as she felt Clarke’s foot kick her light under the table.

“And I have Raven,” Clarke countered, and Lexa felt her eyes narrow just a little as Clarke’s eyes turned distracted, as her face turned dreamy. “Have you seen her work out?” Clarke continued.

“Ok, you win,” Lexa said with a laugh. 

And so Clarke smiled, too, her tongue poking out quickly before she took a sip from her glass. 

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s feet crunched against the snow, her eyes careful as she took in the lake and the mist that drifted upwards.

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke said quietly, her eyes following the few that skated already, the sounds of their skates cutting across the lake’s surface filling the air.

“You’re beautiful,” Lexa said simply as she guided them towards a bench.

“You want everyone to think you’re some kind of tough guy, Lexa,” Clarke said as she shivered a little. “But I know you’re just a big teddybear.”

“I am not a teddybear,” Lexa said simply. 

“Are you sure?” Clarke asked as wrapped her arms around Lexa, her nose cold as it brushed against her neck.

“Yes,” but Lexa knew she couldn’t quite fight the smile that began to spread across her lips. “Now let go or you’re going to make us both fall.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa turned easily, her eyes glancing behind her briefly before turning back to face Clarke who coasted behind her.

“Show off,” Clarke said simply as she continued to watch as Lexa skated backwards.

“It’s not showing off if you can actually do it,” Lexa challenged, her voice, she was sure, smiling.

“Whatever,” and Clarke started going a little faster, her feet rapidly taking them closer and closer together.

Lexa saw the challenge though, she saw the tease in Clarke’s eyes, and she knew that Clarke would try to tackle her to the ground, would try to wrap her arms around her waist and send them sliding across the lake’s surface.

“Before you do it,” Lexa said quickly, hand coming out to slow Clarke’s approach. “I don’t have pads on,” and she saw Clarke merely shrug as she continued to approach. “Clarke,” she warned as Clarke continued to advance. “Clarke,” and she started going a little faster, her eyes widening as Clarke continued to gain speed. 

Lexa braced for the impact then, and she tensed, her eyes closed and she waited for Clarke’s body to impact, to send them reeling to the ice. 

But all she felt was arms wrap around her, all she heard was a quiet laugh and a breathless voice whisper out to her.

“I was just kidding,” Clarke said simply, and Lexa’s eyes opened to see Clarke smiling, her hair just a little frazzled.

“Whatever,” Lexa said as she wrapped her own arms around Clarke as they continued to drift across the lake. 

“You weren’t scared, were you?” Clarke said quietly, her voice ghosting against Lexa’s lips as it settled into the small space between them.

“No,” Lexa said, her chin raising, an eyebrow arching just a little as she dared Clarke to challenge her.

“Ok,” and Clarke smiled a little as she leant forward, her cheek coming to rest against Lexa’s shoulder. “This is nice,” she finished, and Lexa was sure she felt Clarke press her lips to her shoulder.

“It is,” and Lexa smiled as she felt Clarke’s hair brush against her face. 

 

* * *

 

The fire settled around them, and Lexa turned her face into the heat a little as she watched the stars that glinted in the night’s sky. Clarke’s fingers continued to wind through her own, and Lexa felt the smile that pulled at her lips as Clarke hummed along to a tune that had taken hold within her mind.

Lexa’s eyes glanced out over the lake for a moment, and she let her eyes follow the way the mist seemed to catch the flickering of the fires that dotted the edge of the lake as other people gathered at its edge for however long they found themselves willing to brave the cold. She enjoyed these quiet moments though, and it was odd, she had always enjoyed the cold, she had always enjoyed how it made her feel alive. But she had never quite enjoyed sharing it, if only because it had let her feel free, feel unshackled, able to linger in a quiet that was for her only. But she didn’t quite mind sharing moments like this. She didn’t quite mind it when Clarke would move a little closer, when Clarke would squeeze a little more tightly. And she enjoyed the way the mist seemed to carry the flames deeper and deeper across the lake, patches of the surface seemingly aflame as the wind picked up the wisps of cold.

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke whispered quietly, and Lexa knew Clarke must have followed her gaze.

“Yeah,” and Lexa smiled as she turned to Clarke, as she looked into her blue eyes, and as she reached up and brushed a snow flake from Clarke’s cheek. “It is.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke to the rapid beating of her heart, to the sweat that seemed to prickle her skin and to the sheets that twisted around her legs. It took her a long moment to remember where she was, where she lay, but as her thoughts started to settle she tried to steady her breathing, a hand coming to rest against her chest.

It took her a moment longer to register Bruce who lay besides her, his eyes looking at her cautiously as a paw reached out into the space between them. 

“I’m ok,” Clarke whispered as she ruffled his head for a moment.

And so Clarke rubbed her face forcefully, fingers digging into her cheeks as she tried to wake herself enough that she could fumble her way out of the bedroom. It only took her a moment longer before she rolled out of the bed, her eyes adjusting to the darkened room, her hand running against the wall as she began to feel her way through the house.

Times like this had become routine, too. And perhaps Clarke resented that she could only find sleep when she rested besides Lexa, when her back ached from lying in the chair, where the sounds of the machinery whirring filled her ears, and where the body shivered and broke a little each day.

But Clarke shook her thoughts free as she entered the kitchen, Bruce a constant clipping behind her as his nails scraped against the floor slightly. And perhaps Clarke didn’t know what she searched for, perhaps she wasn’t sure whether the longed for something hot, something scolding to wake her mind, or for something cold, something cool, enough to dull her senses, to numb the hurt and the pain. 

And so she turned to the window, she approached it, she let her fingers touch the cold of the glass, and her eyes followed the path her finger cut through the fogged glass before her gaze.

She let her mind steal her thoughts again, and she let herself tune out whatever it was that drilled into her brain, and as her finger continued to brush against the glass, as her breath continued to fog it, and as her heart continued to beat, Clarke thought that things weren’t so nice. Not anymore, not when only half of her seemed to exist. 

She felt the tears begin to well up once more, but this time she let them fall, this time she embraced the hurt. If only because it let her know it was real, it let her know the memories she felt were important. 

Clarke blinked past her tears then, and as she took a step back from the glass she thought she felt a churning in her stomach and a falter in the beat of her heart. 

And she hated it. She hated the way her eyes seemed to take in what she had created, what she had drawn without much thought, without much effort. 

And maybe she hated that it had become too routine, maybe she hated that it had turned her into someone who seemed to hold onto a past that slipped away with each passing day, with each rising of the sun, with each setting of its warmth.

But didn’t that mean she cared? 

Didn’t that mean it was worth holding on for?

And so she let her eyes trace the curves and the lines she saw in the glass, she let it bleed into her mind and she let it war with the hopelessness that she knew was consuming her with each breath that broke past her lips. 

_There’s still time._


	6. Twenty-Two

“How’s work?” Anya asked.

“Good,” Clarke answered after a moment’s pause. “Fine,” and she shrugged. “They’ve been pretty good with giving me time off when I need it,” she finished as she worried her lip.

“That’s good,” Anya nodded.

“What about you?” and Clarke smiled as Anya sighed a little.

“Annoying,” she shrugged. “This idiot may have cost us a lot of money by talking to a competitor before the contracts were signed,” and Anya kicked at a branch that lay in their path.

“Sounds not good,” and Clarke tugged a little on the leash as Bruce tried running after the bouncing branch.

“No,” Anya agreed. “Not good,” and she pulled her coat a bit more tightly around herself. 

“You don’t have to be here,” Clarke said after a moment though, her eyes taking in the way Anya’s gaze seemed to grow distant for a moment. “I understand if work needs you.”

“Yes I do. You need me,” Anya said simply. “Indra will keep things going for the moment,” and Anya frowned a little in thought. 

And as Clarke took in the other woman, as she let her gaze fall across the way she frowned, perhaps Clarke thought Anya needed the closure, the company and the knowledge that another was suffering just as much as her in these last few days.

“I spoke to Gustus,” Clarke said, “Lincoln, too.”

“Yeah,” Anya nodded. “I saw Lincoln yesterday,” and she sighed as she stuffed her hands into deep pockets. “Everyone’s probably going to be coming down I guess,” and Anya jerked her head towards a bench, eyebrow raising in question.

“Yeah,” and Clarke nodded as she changed direction, feet careful as she left the footpath, the snow underfoot less cared for now. “It’s nice,” and she grimaced a little.

“I get you,” Anya nodded. “It’s nice, despite why people are coming down.”

Clarke bit her lip then, and she knew she felt her lip quiver a little, enough that she was sure Anya noticed, enough that she knew if she let her thoughts embrace it, if she let her mind begin to wander, that she’d break, that she’d become a mess of tears and pain, and so Clarke shook her head, bit her lip just a little more sharply and pulled her gaze elsewhere.

“How’s Gustus?” Anya asked after a moment, feet scuffing at an icy patch underneath the bench as she glared past the sun that dappled into her eyes.

“Ok,” Clarke said as she began scratching under Bruce’s chin. “He’s going to see her soon,” and Clarke blinked roughly, quickly. 

“I haven’t spoken to him in a week,” Anya said.

“He understands,” and Clarke unhooked Bruce’s leash. “He saw the picture Lincoln brought, too,” and Clarke heard Anya snort a little. 

 “I always hated that picture,” Anya said. “They could have waited until my nose stopped bleeding.”

“Lexa liked it,” Clarke countered. “She always said it made you look like you just fought a war,” and she smiled as Bruce ran off, as he began chasing after a familiar dog that was always friendly with him.

“It made me look like I just got my ass beaten,” Anya retorted. 

Clarke paused though, and she let her mind turn back the years, turn back the days and the months and the winters when it had snowed and frozen the lands. 

“I miss it,” Clarke said simply, and she knew Anya sensed her longing, her wish for things to be a little different. “I miss simpler times. I miss being a child. I miss not being afraid that each morning I’ll be woken up by the hospital calling, or be woken by nurses rushing into her room if she just dies,” and Clarke grit her teeth as she tried to bite back the bile that began to creep up her throat.

Anya nodded quietly, and Clarke knew Anya wouldn’t say much, wouldn’t share her feelings, couldn’t quite let herself voice her fears and weaknesses.

“There’s still time,” Anya said, and it came out simple, it came out confident, with little fear in the waver that Clarke thought she heard.

“Yeah,” and perhaps Clarke enjoyed Anya’s confidence, perhaps she needed Anya’s conviction. “There’s still time.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s eyes followed the swath of blue that the plane’s wing cut through the sky. The plane shuddered then, and as Lexa pulled her gaze from the window she saw a light overhead flicker for a moment. 

There was an odd sense of dread in her stomach though, and it wasn’t for the plane’s shuddering, it wasn’t for the slight apprehension she always seemed to feel with every plane trip. But she felt the dread that settled into her stomach as her thoughts turned to Clarke. And she worried, she thought and she tried to think of what she could say, of what she could do to make the hurt a little less sharp, a little less gaping. But perhaps Lexa knew that there was little she could do.

If only because she knew not what to do in situations like this.

And so she sighed, she squeezed her hand tightly and she tried to settle her eyes onto something a little less morose, a little less daunting.

“Trouble back home?” and Lexa turned to the woman besides her, the person’s gaze careful, her eyes taking in the way Lexa was sure her knuckles whitened on the armrest, on the way her knee seemed to tap a little more forcefully with each passing second.

As Lexa took in the woman, as she let her gaze meet the hazel eyes, the kind gaze, and the way the woman’s hair seemed to curl, seemed to live freely, with little more than a lone hair tie holding it out of her eyes, Lexa thought that perhaps the woman inquisitive, she thought the woman kind, careful. But not inquisitive insofar as she wished to intrude, as she wished for gossip and for knowing things not for her. But perhaps merely inquisitive of the pain that must have been evident upon Lexa’s face. 

“Yes,” Lexa said simply, unsure now of whether she should reveal more, should discuss more. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” the woman smiled kindly.

And Lexa knew she didn’t, she knew she could brush off the woman’s words, could merely smile politely and turn her gaze outwards once more. 

But perhaps she thought talking would help, perhaps she thought speaking of what settled over her chest would be less lonesome.

“My partner’s father died,” Lexa began simply, eyes taking in the way the woman acknowledged her words, the way the woman’s eyes widened only a fraction, enough that Lexa was sure her words had taken her by surprise.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said quietly, her lips turning into a thin smile, into a wan smile. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Lexa shrugged simply, and she was sure she could have said something more in that moment.

“Still,” and the woman shrugged herself. “I’m sorry.”

“I left,” Lexa began once more, teeth chewing on a lip too sharply. “I went on holidays, I even joked that without me something bad would happen,” and Lexa looked away as the last of her words left her. 

“You think she thinks you abandoned her?” the woman questioned. But Lexa registered the words, she registered the way the woman met her gaze easily. “I can tell,” the woman shrugged, her eyes turning apologetic for a moment. “Your nails,” and the woman lifted her own hand. 

“Oh,” and perhaps Lexa knew she could have said something more articulate.

“It’s none of my business,” the woman said once more. “You can tell me to get stuffed, to shut up and to mind my own business if you want,” and the woman trailed off for a moment, eyebrows quirking together as she waited for a reply, for a response. “I don’t think she’d blame you for it,” she said after a pause.

“But I blame myself,” Lexa said, eyes glancing to the way the woman’s hair seemed to bounce just a little in the breeze that filtered through the airplane’s cabin.

“Why?”

“Why?” Lexa repeated, eyes narrowing for a breath.

“Why do you blame yourself?” 

And why did she? Was it because she felt responsible for it, was it because she felt like she had taken the first opportunity to have a holiday, to have some time to herself, to be alone, only for it to end abruptly in pain and anguish and death? 

“I feel like I abandoned her,” it was simple. It was the truth.

“But you couldn’t have known something was going to happen,” the woman said.

“But it did,” and Lexa clenched her jaw a little more tightly.

“It did,” the woman shrugged. “But you weren’t responsible. How could you have been?”

“I should have been there,” Lexa challenged. “I should be there right now.”

“She’d understand,” and Lexa watched as the woman leant back a little and took her in. 

“And what makes you think that?” 

“Well,” and the woman’s head tilted a little in thought. “You’re here, by yourself for starters,” and Lexa’s eyebrows quirked together. “That shows me that she trusts you, that she doesn’t feel like she needs you with her all the time, right? That you’re both independent?” and Lexa saw the woman nod to herself a little. “And the fact that you’re here,” and the woman gestured around them. “That shows that you care, that you’re cutting your holiday short. And I’m sure she knows you care, too.”

“Caring wasn’t enough,” Lexa said.

“Maybe it’s not,” the woman answered. “But I think you care, and I think she knows you care, too,” and the woman worried her lip. “And maybe caring is all that we can do sometimes.”

Lexa frowned a little more forcefully as the woman’s words settled within her thoughts, but as she tried to make sense of what had been said, as she tried to sift through what she had said, she thought herself not sure, not certain still.

“I might not have made any sense,” the woman said more quietly now. “I guess I’m just trying to say that I think she knows you care, and I think you care, and she’ll understand, and despite what’s happened, everything will be ok,” and the woman smiled apologetically, her lip quirking up at the corner a little.

“Yeah,” and Lexa met her gaze, her own lips turning up just a little, her cheeks twitching up into the faintest of smiles. “Thanks,” and Lexa lifted a finger off the armrest before letting it drop.

 

* * *

 

The taxi from the airport took longer than she remembered. It seemed an age as she passed by traffic light, road sign and faceless building after faceless building. Even the blanket of white that had already begun to settle over the ground seemed less comforting to her, seemed less open and welcoming. But she was sure her thoughts coloured the experience, she was sure her anger and annoyance and frustrations and hurt were the cause for her ill mood.

And so, as she eyed the door, as she listened to the taxi as it faded into the distance, and as she felt the snow and the cold of the night already begin to seep into her  clothes, she thought of what to say, of how to say what she was sure Clarke would need to hear in this moment.

Lexa’s feet crunched against the snow, the sound familiar, and as she brushed a hand against her forehead she was sure she heard the silence that emanated  from the house, the usual and familiar sounds of laughter not so present, not to lively anymore.

Her finger reached out then, and she listened to the doorbell as it chimed out quietly, and she waited. She heard the approach of feet and she was sure she heard the sniffle and the way shoulders shook as tears were ushered away.

The door opened then, and Lexa swallowed and squinted painfully as light met her, as it blinded her and caused her to blink a little too harshly before her gaze settled on who stood before her.

“I—” and Lexa’s voice broke a little as she saw Clarke’s eyes widen, as she saw the way her hair hung, dishevelled, unkempt, messy. Lexa was sure her heart began to break as she saw the red under Clarke’s eyes, she was sure she felt the pain as she registered the tears that stained Clarke’s cheeks. “I came as soon as I could,” and it was simple. It was the truth.

And so Lexa braced herself as Clarke rushed forward, as she crashed against her and as her arms embraced her. 

“It’s ok,” Lexa whispered into Clarke’s ear, and Lexa was sure her own eyes began to water as Clarke’s sobs broke through the silence, as Clarke’s tears began to fall anew, and as her arms shook and her heart broke even further. “It’s ok,” Lexa repeated, her arms squeezing, her lips brushing against Clarke’s neck as she took the blonde’s weight a little. “I’m here,” and she heard Clarke’s sobs and her voice as it chattered and shuddered under her quaking breath.

“Thank you,” Lexa heard, and it was muffled, it came wet, it came broken and disjointed. 

“I’m here, Clarke,” Lexa whispered. 

“Thank you,” Clarke’s voice came out ragged and broken.

“I’m here,” Lexa repeated more softly as she began ushering the both of them inside. 

“Thank—” and Clarke gagged on a sob. “—you.”

“It’s ok,” Lexa whispered. “I’m here.”

“I love you,” Clarke managed to say, managed to force out through the pain.

“I’m here,” Lexa whispered as she pressed her lips to Clarke’s head softly. “I’m always here,” and she brushed a strand of Clarke’s hair aside. “I’ll always be here, I’ll always be with you,” and she smiled past the tears she could feel falling from her own eyes. “I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa let her eyes trace the patterns she thought she could glimpse in the patchwork of the plaster above her head. Her eyes followed the slight edge that seemed raised just a little over a corner of the roof that spoke of a house long lived and changed. Her eyes fell down to the wall, to where the curtain seemed to hang from its railing, where it seemed to flutter and breathe on whatever wind managed to sneak through the window.

A sigh fell from her lips though, and as she pulled her gaze from the window and as she let her eyes settle on the lamp that flickered in the corner of the room she knew she felt the ache in her chest, she knew she felt the itch in her eyes. 

She wasn’t sure how long she had spent on the bed though, she wasn’t so sure how long she had listened to Clarke’s breaths that came out deeply now, that came out slowly, that juxtaposed with the rapid and broken breaths that had seemed to expose a little more hurt with each ragged exhale that had passed Clarke’s lips before she had fallen asleep. 

But Lexa didn’t mind, she didn’t think she ever would. Or perhaps not minding was poor wording, was not quite what she had meant. But she knew the pain Clarke felt, for she felt it too. She felt the ache in her heart at the loss of Jake, but perhaps she hurt the most because Clarke hurt. Because Clarke’s world had been shattered, had been broken and frayed and twisted far too soon for either of them.

Clarke murmured slightly in her sleep then, and as Lexa glanced down at the blonde she saw the tears that had seemed to burrow across her cheeks, that left behind reddened rivers, that seemed to leave the girl’s eyes bruised and pained.

And Lexa felt unsure. She felt a little lost, she felt a little less sure and certain in her actions now. And perhaps she didn’t know what to do, what to say, what she could say to ease Clarke’s pain, to ease her hurt, to make the pain of Jake’s death hurt any less.

Clarke shifted a little again, and Lexa saw the frown that began to bury, that began to split across her forehead. 

“It’s ok,” Lexa whispered, and she wasn’t so sure Clarke heard her. “It’s ok,” Lexa brought her lips to Clarke’s forehead, soft enough to not disturb, deep enough that the frown lessened, that it seemed to fade and recede back ever so slightly. “It’s ok,” and Lexa felt the tear that seemed to slip down her cheek with a mind and a want of its own. “I’m here, Clarke,” and she felt Clarke squeeze a little more tightly in her sleep. “I’ll always be with you.”

 

* * *

 

“—eah,” and Clarke worried her lip for a moment as she glanced at the clock. “I’ve done that already,” and she winced as she shuffled a little. 

“You don’t need me to come down again?” Anya pressed.

“No,” Clarke shook her head, her eyes following the breath she saw rise in front of her face.

Anya sighed then, and Clarke could picture the way the other woman leaned back in the chair, Clarke was sure she could even picture the pink stress ball Anya would be squeezing in her free hand. 

“If you need me I can get there in 30,” Anya said simply. 

“I know,” Clarke nodded once more. “Don’t worry about me,” Clarke said. “I’ll be ok.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Anya,” and Clarke smiled just a little more freely as she heard Anya sigh forcefully. 

“Ok,” and Clarke heard Anya shuffle something across her desk. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“Ok,” and Clarke thought she heard Anya nod a few times. “Call me,” Anya repeated before hanging up.

And so Clarke sighed as she leant against the wall, her eyes trying to settle on something a little less concrete than the world she had been living for the last long while.

She breathed in deeply, her lungs filling with the too cold air, with the too cold bite that pervaded her nostrils. She’d never become used to it either, she’d never embraced the cold like Lexa had, she had never felt alive in moments when the cold seemed to grip her too tightly. But perhaps now it let her feel closer to Lexa, let her feel a little less set apart. 

And so Clarke pushed off from the wall, and she checked for cars before making her way back to the main entrance, her coat pulled a little more tightly around herself for the short walk.

It only took her a moment before she entered the hospital, the warmth of the inside enough to let her breaths come more freely and so she loosened her coat as she began finding her way towards Lexa.

Clarke’s feet followed the memorised path, her eyes not quite focusing on much more than avoiding others who walked past her, on avoiding obstacles that seemed to make her journey a little slower with each passing day. Or maybe she was searching for anything to prolong the time, to make it last a little longer than she knew she had. But she found herself in front of Lexa’s door. She found herself already reaching for it and so she paused. She paused for long enough that she could steady her breathing, so that she could be sure her eyes didn’t water, didn’t waver.

Clarke opened the door quietly, eyes peering inside for a moment before she slipped through the opening. 

And it always hurt. Clarke thought it would never stop hurting to see Lexa and what she had become. But perhaps Clarke forced herself to stare, to take in the way Lexa lay on the bed, the way the tube seemed to disappear past her lips. And Clarke hated the way her cheeks seemed more gaunt with each passing day. Clarke hated the way Lexa’s hands didn’t do much more than remain lifelessly still by her side, and Clarke hated the way the machine whirred with each breath that filled Lexa’s lungs, that kept her alive, that kept her breathing while she still had time.

“Hey,” Clarke whispered as she found herself in the seat, her hand already reaching for Lexa’s. “I spoke to Anya,” and Clarke worried her lip. “She still worries about me,” and she shrugged. “Gustus visited yesterday. He’ll be here tonight,” and Clarke felt blood on her tongue as she bit a little more forcefully than she intended. “Bruce behaved though,” and Clarke felt the chuckle seep out a little. “He didn’t jump up on Gustus until he was sure I wasn’t looking, so maybe it wasn’t really behaving. But at least he waited until he knew he could get away with it,” Clarke paused once more as her lip began to tremble.

And moments like this hurt. Moments like this seemed cruel, but she knew it was important to talk, she knew that it helped, that it was cathartic for her to share moments with Lexa, even if she wasn’t so sure she was heard. 

“I think Bruce understands now,” Clarke continued. “I think he’s figured out you aren’t coming home,” and Clarke looked away as tears began to fall. “I thought it’d be easier, I thought it’d get easier after all this time,” and she had. She had hoped so very much that it would become easier. “But it still hurts, Lex,” and she squeezed her hand. “Every time I call, every time I make arrangements I feel like I’m letting you down, I feel like I’m cheating on us. On everything we’ve been through,” and Clarke wiped a hand across her face. “You aren’t gone yet, but they tell me to prepare, to make sure that it doesn’t catch me by surprise,” and Clarke knew her lip trembled. “Everyone seems to know, too,” and Clarke sniffled a little inelegantly. “I think Anya warned them so that it didn’t come as a surprised,” and Clarke glared through the hurt. “I thought I’d be angry, I thought I’d be furious at her for telling them before I had chance to do it myself,” but Clarke smiled then, just a little, just enough. “But I think Anya knew I wouldn’t have been able to, I think she knew I couldn’t. And I think she knew I would have made a scene, wouldn’t have been able to say it right,” and Clarke sighed as she stood quickly, as she left the chair and began to pace around the room.

And it took her a long moment to continue, it took her a long moment to find her voice again, to find the words she wanted to voice.

“I was selfish,” she said. “I was selfish. I am selfish. And I forget that I’m not the only one hurting,” and she looked back to Lexa. “I think Anya needed to do it though, and I’m happy she did. I would have ruined it,” and Clarke moved back to Lexa’s side. “I think it was her own way of saying goodbye,” and Clarke whimpered a little as she knelt down besides Lexa, as she leant the side of her face against Lexa’s pillow and traced the way Lexa’s cheek seemed to curve away from her. “But I’m not giving up,” Clarke whispered as she reached out, her hand slowly tracing Lexa’s jaw. “Not yet,” and Clarke felt the tears begin to fall anew. “I won’t give up, not until the end,” and she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare try to hide her pain from Lexa. Not when they were this close. “I won’t give you up,” Clarke pressed her lips to Lexa’s cheek, she let them linger and she let them warm Lexa’s too cold skin. “There’s still time.”


	7. Twenty-Five

Clarke woke to a gentle pressure on her shoulder. Her eyes opened to find Abby kneeling in front of her, the older woman’s gaze tender as she took in what Clarke thought must have been a dishevelled, fractured woman.

“Clarke,” Abby whispered, her face cracking into a sad smile.

“Hi,” Clarke murmured as she sat up a little more in her chair. “When did you get here?” and Clarke looked to the clock on the wall to gauge the time.

“About nine,” Abby whispered. “I was just about to get something to drink,” and her voice trailed off in question.

“I’m ok,” Clarke said.

“Ok,” Abby said, her head nodding quietly before she stood. “I’ll be back soon.”

And so Clarke watched as her mother slipped from the room. And Clarke yawned then, and she felt her neck protest the motion, she felt her jaw click a little and she felt the satisfying crack in her spine as she twisted a little before her eyes fell to Lexa once more.

But Clarke was spared her spiralling thoughts when Abby returned, the door opening just enough that Abby could slip inside before it closed behind her.

Abby took a seat then, and Clarke knew her mother wouldn’t voice much in the first few moments, she knew Abby would be content with remaining quiet, would be content with just watching how her daughter shifted in her seat, how she wouldn’t quite meet her mother’s gaze.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Clarke said, eyes meeting the eyebrow her mother raised.

“What am I thinking?” Abby said.

“That I look liked shit.”

“You do,” Abby smiled. 

“Can you blame me?” Clarke asked.

“No,” and Abby smiled a little before falling silent again, her gaze turning to Lexa’s body.

“I’m ok,” Clarke said in anticipation to whatever thoughts she was sure her mother wished to say.

“Are you?” Abby asked.

“As much as I can be,” Clarke shrugged. 

Abby nodded as she leant a little more into her chair and brought the cup to her lips. 

“It’s getting colder,” Abby said as she took in the wafting of her cup. 

“It is,” Clarke answered as she glanced out the window and through the curtains to see the barest hints of snow falling.

Abby smiled once more, and Clarke thought, and she knew that her mother wouldn’t dwell on the pain, on the hurt that existed in the room. 

And so Clarke sighed a little, ran a hand across her face briefly and then smiled as words and thoughts and conversation began to form on her lips.

And perhaps Clarke welcomed the distraction.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s breaths came rapidly, they came tiredly and broken. She felt the sweat trickle down her forehead and she couldn’t help but to snarl a little at the sting she felt burn into the corner of her eye. But she looked up as she saw the shadow fall across her from where she sat on the ground.

“What?” she asked, eyes glaring at the blonde who stood before her, hands on hips and a smirk upon lips.

“You’re really this tired?” Clarke asked.

“Yes,” Lexa responded. “Who was the one unpacking everything? Who was the one moving everything into place?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Clarke hummed as she looked up into the ceiling. “You’d have to remind me.”

“I wouldn’t have to remind you if you helped,” Lexa said.

“But I’d be denying you the chance to show off all those muscles you used to have,” Clarke said.

“Yeah, Clarke,” Lexa grunted. “Used to. I haven’t played hockey in years,” but Lexa couldn’t help but smile as Clarke pouted.

But Clarke flopped down besides her with a groan as she stretched her legs out in front of them.

“I still can’t really believe it,” Clarke said simply, and Lexa turned to see a smile on Clarke’s face as she looked out at the boxes and the furniture in various states of disorder.

“I can’t, either,” Lexa agreed as she nudged Clarke’s shoulder with her own.

“Yeah,” Clarke said as she turned to face her. “It’s nice.”

And so Lexa smiled, and she felt it spread more fully, she felt it settle and she felt herself content in this moment.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s mind turned slowly, it turned lazily, it drifted with each ghosting breeze that she felt brush against her cheek. She felt the press of Clarke’s body against her though, she felt Clarke’s warmth and she felt Clarke’s exhale as it brushed against her neck. 

And so her eyes opened to the dark of their room, to the boxes that remained unpacked and to the clothes that remained strewn across the floor. Lexa smiled as she sunk deeper into the covers though, she smiled as she rolled onto her side and she smiled as her eyes adjusted to the light that seemed to bounce a little more brightly off Clarke’s hair.

It was odd, too. Lexa had never thought of herself as sentimental, never thought herself as willing to show her affections overtly. But perhaps she enjoyed the way she felt herself mould and bend with Clarke with each passing day. And she felt the quiet settle, she felt the cold kept distant, and she felt her heart as it continued to beat steadily within her chest as her eyes began to trace the gentle dip of Clarke’s nose, the way her jaw curved a bit and the way her chin trembled just a little in her sleep.

Lexa tucked a hand under her head as she continued to watch Clarke sleep, and she smiled a little as her breath ghosted against the other woman’s face, her nose scrunching up a little. She reached out then, and it wasn’t a conscious thought, wasn’t a realised motion, perhaps wasn’t even noticed, but she reached out with a hand, her finger just barely brushing a hair from Clarke’s cheek before she brought her hand back to the safety of her side of the bed.

And she liked this. 

She enjoyed this. 

She wanted this.

And she loved.

 

* * *

 

Lexa slowed the car as the lights began to change. It took her a moment to ease the car to a stop, the road more ice now, and she eyed the way cars started passing in front of her, she eyed the way many had snow chains, she eyed the way some took a little longer than usual to accelerate. And she thought it odd that she enjoyed moments like this, she found it unusual that she found it interesting to see how people seemed to react to danger, how they seemed to react to more hostile environments, how they even seemed to take more care. 

 She reached for the radio then, fingers just a little numb in the cold, and she smiled as a tune reached her ears and she felt her fingers begin to tap against the steering wheel mindlessly.

But the lights changed, she saw them snap to green and she looked  both ways quickly before beginning to inch forward with the traffic.

And maybe it was her times spent playing hockey, maybe it was the years she had spent chasing the flash of a rubber puck, the fleeting dance of a player as they tried to pass her and the sixth sense she had developed, but she knew she sensed something.

Lexa’s head snapped to the side as she saw a car lose traction, as its wheels began to spin helplessly. And it took her a moment to register the path it began to slice over the road, it took her a second to understand its destination, how it spun and spun. 

Lexa braced herself for the impact, she braced herself for the sound and the crunch of metal against metal.

And she couldn’t help but wince as the car slammed into a traffic pole, she couldn’t help but flinch just a little as she saw its airbags punch up to meet the unfortunate driver. And perhaps she was a little thankful she drove with snow chains. 

Lexa pulled her car over then, eyes glancing rearward to see others bringing their cars to a pause. And so she opened the door, hand already groping for her phone as she began the careful walk to the car, eyes searching for signs of injury and pain.

 

* * *

 

Signing contracts sucked. Her hand cramped and her eyes itched from the number of lines she had read. But Lexa wasn’t a quitter, she wasn’t someone who gave up at the slightest sign of discomfort. And so she took a sip from a long gone coffee, she grimaced as she set it down and she thumbed through the next couple pages as her eyes darted to the clock that hung on the wall.

“So,” and Lexa looked up to see Anya eyeing her carefully.

“So?”

“So,” Anya repeated. “You talk to Clarke yet?”

“No,” Lexa said, eyes narrowing as she took in the way Anya shifted a little closer before leaning a hip against her desk’s edge.

“Why not?” Anya questioned.

“I don’t know,” Lexa said as she leant back in her chair, chin raising as she shuffled the papers away from her for the moment.

“That’s a lame excuse,” Anya said simply.

“It is,” Lexa nodded.

“Want my opinion?”

“Not re—”

“—I’m giving it to you anyway,” and Anya reached out and grabbed the closest chair she could find. “I think you should talk to her before asking,” and Anya held a hand up as Lexa began to question her. “I know you’re going to say you know what her answer’s going to be, and I have a pretty good idea what her answer will be too,” Anya continued. “But shouldn’t you guys discuss things? Finances? Living arrangements, adult stuff?” 

“We already live together,” Lexa said. 

“True,” and Anya crossed her arms as she began tapping on Lexa’s desk with a finger absentmindedly. “What about this then,” and Anya’s lips broke into a smirk. “You’re going to have to sneak around if you don’t tell her, you’re going to have to go out, buy the ring, hide it, right?”

“Right,” Lexa nodded.

“What if she doesn’t like the ring? What if it isn’t the right one? What if she asks first?” 

Lexa grit her teeth a little. Just enough that she could imagine them cracking.

“And all the sneaking around you’re going to have to do,” Anya continued. “She’ll think you’re cheating on her, she’ll think you’re sleeping around,” and Anya shrugged. “That wouldn’t be cool.”

“No,” Lexa nodded a little. “It wouldn’t be.”

“Do you really want to put Clarke through that? Do you really want her to think you’re breaking her heart?”

“That’s mean,” Lexa said.

“What can I say?” Anya shrugged.

“Not that.”

Anya laughed then, just a little, but enough that Lexa knew she felt her own lips twitch a little.

“I’m just saying, Lex. I think it’d be better if she knew you were going to do it so that it’s not some massive surprise.”

“Isn’t that the point though? For it to be a surprise?”

“Yeah,” and Anya nodded again. “ _When_ you do it should be a surprise. Not _that_ you do it,” and Anya looked up in thought for a moment. “Do you really want to be like some of those poor fucks on the internet who get filmed proposing only for the woman to say no and end up leaving them in front of a crowd? All because they didn’t talk things out first.”

“Not really,” Lexa agreed, her smile spreading a little more freely now.

“I rest my case.”

 

* * *

 

“So I said to him not to touch my stuff, right?” and Clarke swept a strand of hair behind an ear. “But then he ate my apple.” 

“That’s not good,” Lexa said as she fumbled for her keys. 

“It’s not,” Clarke grumbled as she paused at the door.

“Here,” Lexa said as the lights on the car blinked once before the doors unlocked.

“It was annoying,” Clarke continued as she slumped into the passenger seat. “But they’re kids. What can I do?” 

“Not much?”

“Yeah, I can’t really yell at them or something.”

“No,” and Lexa laughed. “That wouldn’t be good.”

“So,” and Clarke trailed off as she glanced out the window.

“Where exactly are we going?” 

“Lake,” Lexa said simply. 

“How romantic,” Clarke gasped in jest, a hand coming to her heart as she batted her eyelids.

“I wanted to talk,” Lexa began as she began pulling the car out of the car park. “And it’s sort of important.”

And Clarke went quiet then, and Lexa was sure Clarke was eyeing her suspiciously. 

“What kind of talk?” and Lexa was sure Clarke started glancing around the car in search of something. 

“Well,” and Lexa worried her lip. “It was Anya’s idea and she talked me into it, so don’t be angry with me if you absolutely hate it.”

“Go on,” and Lexa sensed Clarke cross her arms.

“Marriage,” Lexa said. “You and me,” and she winced as she tried to think of a better way to articulate the words she wanted to voice.

“This is the worst proposal I have ever heard.”

“No,” and Lexa glanced to the side for a moment to see Clarke glaring at her. “I’m not proposing,” and she looked back to the road. “Hold on,” and she sensed Clarke’s eyebrow raise. “You’ve been proposed to before?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Ok,” and Lexa took in a deep breath as she tried to focus on her words and on the way she drove. “Can we talk about this when I’m not driving?” and she worried her lip. “I want to get it right.”

And so Clarke sighed, and Lexa thought she felt Clarke loosen a little in her seat.

“Ok.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s skates cut over the ice easily, and she knew Clarke waited for her to voice, to speak of whatever she had tried to speak of in the car. But it was odd. If only because she knew Clarke would say yes, she knew Clarke would want to get married in the future. But perhaps it was odd because she felt nervous, she felt unsure. And perhaps it was because she thought the conversation they were to have was important, would define where they would go, how their futures would evolve together.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Lexa began as she looked to Clarke besides her. 

“Marriage?” 

“Yeah,” and Lexa nodded to herself a little.

“Me too,” Clarke said simply, and Lexa knew Clarke had anticipated where things were going, where the conversation may be headed.

“I don’t know if I’m ready just yet,” and she glanced to Clarke to see her nod in understanding. “But I know I want it.”

“Me too,” Clarke echoed, and Lexa saw her beginning to smile more freely.

“We’ve both got careers, we’ve only just started our lives together—”

“There’s still time,” Clarke cut in.

“Exactly,” and Lexa felt a sense of quiet relief begin to rise. “I don’t want to rush things, but I know what I want.”

And perhaps Lexa still felt a little exposed, a little vulnerable.

“I want those things, too,” Clarke whispered as she wove an arm through Lexa’s own.

“Good,” Lexa said then, and she nodded to herself, she tried to force her thoughts into calmer waters.

“Good,” Clarke whispered as she brought them a little closer together as they continued to glide across the frozen lake, other couples and children and families happy to do the same in the little daylight left.

 

* * *

 

It was dark by the time Lexa found herself sitting on a bench, eyes happy to move from the stars and to the fires that dotted the lake’s edge.

“It took a little longer for the lake to freeze enough,” Clarke said.

“It did,” Lexa nodded.

“It’s lucky some of the kids didn’t get hurt this year,” Clarke continued.

“It was,” Lexa said as she glanced to a family that huddled by a fire, their laughter wafting over the wind happily.

“You know, Lex,” and Clarke bumped their shoulders together. “Now that I know you’re thinking of marriage I’m expecting a huge proposal.”

And Lexa laughed a little, but she couldn’t help but feel just a little nervousness begin to creep in, begin to settle into the pit of her stomach as she turned to find Clarke looking at her expectant and sure.

“I’m just kidding,” Clarke laughed. “Anything you did, any way you did it would be enough,” and Clarke leant her head on her shoulder. 

And so Lexa let out a breath that she thought too loud, too deep, if only because Clarke poked her in the ribs and nudged under her chin a little with her forehead.

But perhaps Lexa couldn’t quite stop her thoughts from turning to the future, from turning to things that could happen. If only because images of families, of futures and children flit through her mind in that moment.

“I saw someone crash today,” Lexa began. “It wasn’t serious,” and she felt Clarke settle closer to her as she murmured. 

“No one got hurt?”

“No,” Lexa answered. “They didn’t have snow chains on though,” and Lexa pictured the way the tyres had spun and lost traction on the road. “It could have been bad,” and Lexa worried her lip.

“But it wasn’t?” Clarke asked as she looked up. 

“It wasn’t,” Lexa said. “But,” and Lexa looked away in thought, she looked away and she tried to figure out exactly why she had begun speaking. “It just made me realise that sometimes you never know what’s going to happen,” and she eyed Clarke carefully, memories of years past, of pains and hurt and loss that still sometimes woke during uncertain moments, coming to surface slowly.

“I’m ok,” Clarke whispered.

“You mean the world to me,” Lexa began. “And this morning just made me realise that sometimes things aren’t always in our control,” and she paused a little.

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t live life, though,” Clarke challenged.

“I know,” Lexa said. “But sometimes living life means knowing when to let go, knowing what to give up to be able to survive.”

“Where are you going with this, Lex?” Clarke asked tiredly.

“The crash made me realise that if I ever end up in a crash, if I ever end up messed up,” and she paused. “Life should be about more than just surviving,” and Lexa swallowed harshly.

Clarke leant away a little though, enough that space was created between them, enough that Clarke could meet Lexa’s gaze.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Clarke said, and Lexa smiled at the conviction she heard.

“You don’t know that, Clarke,” she said. “Just—” but she looked away for a moment. “Just give me a year,” and Lexa turned back to Clarke. “Give me a year. And if I’m still gone, if all I’m doing is surviving with the help of a machine then I give you permission to pull the plug.”

“Hey,” and Clarke swivelled from where she leant against Lexa so that she faced her fully. “Where’s this coming from?”

“You,” Lexa said simply. “But I’m serious,” and Lexa squeezed Clarke’s hand. “If something ever happens then I don’t want to live my life not living, not being able to wake up to your face. I don’t want to not be able to hold you. I don’t want to not be able to hear your laugh and to see your smile.”

And as her words trailed off she thought her words just a little rambling, just a little unsure. But she was sure Clarke understood, she was sure Clarke recognised her words and their meaning.

And Clarke met her gaze for a long moment. And Lexa thought it quiet, she thought it worried, unsure, uncertain, afraid and perhaps just a little fearful. But she knew she saw the love in Clarke’s eyes, she knew she felt the understanding in Clarke’s eyes. But perhaps above all, she knew Clarke loved her.

And she was sure.

“Ok.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke hated the sounds of the machines. She hated that quiet whirring, that quiet breathing that seemed too constant, too well timed, too false. She hated the way it seemed too loud. But perhaps most of all, she hated that it wasn’t Lexa.

 “I hate you,” and it surprised her when the words left her mouth. “I hate you,” and she couldn’t tear her eyes from Lexa’s body, couldn’t pull her gaze from where she held Lexa’s hand in her own. “I hate that you made me promise. I hate that you made me agree,” and she felt her tears begin to fall.

And she did hate it. She hated feeling trapped. She hated being forced to let go before she was ready to give up. And she hated that she still had time. But not enough.

“Why?” and Clarke squeezed her eyes shut. “Why did I have to love you, Lex?” 

And maybe Clarke hoped to hear a response. Maybe she hoped to hear that voice once more.

“Maybe if you said something, maybe if you made me angry before you left then I wouldn’t feel guilty about not listening, about not keeping my promise.”

But Clarke knew she would never and could never have done anything else.

“If I didn’t love you so much maybe it would be easier. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. But I do. I do and it hurts more each day. It hurts to wake up, it hurts to fall asleep only to dream of you. It hurts to wake up to you here. It hurts to not feel you against me, it hurts not to know how your day went,” and Clarke grimaced.

She squeezed her eyes shut again and she shook her head for a too long minute.

“Please,” and her voice came out a whisper. “Please just give me a sign,” and Clarke felt her lip tremble. “Tell me that you’re still there, that you can hear me,” and Clarke hated it. “Do something, do anything,” and Clarke knew she started to cry more fully, she knew her pain had taken hold. “Please, Lexa,” and she let her vision blur. 

But it still hurt.

She thought it always would.

“You still have time.”

But not enough.

“Please.”


	8. Twenty-Seven

 

Clarke watched for a moment as Bruce twitched an ear, as he shifted a little and as his tail seemed to twitch just a bit.

“Are you going to stop moving?” she asked, and she watched as he turned to look over his shoulder, head tilted enough that an ear seemed to hang haplessly. “I take that as a yes,” and so Clarke smiled just a little as she  continued to pull the brush through his hair. 

Clarke winced a little as she found a knot, she whispered an apology as Bruce whimpered a little and she scratched behind his ear as he settled onto the floor, his eyes beginning to peer outside as he took in the falling of the snow and the sun that seemed to melt it just a little before it touched the ground.

“I don’t think I’m going to let you outside again for a while, Bruce,” Clarke whispered. “I’m not doing this again,” and she tried pulling out another frozen knot before giving up with a sigh.

Bruce perked up though, and Clarke smiled a little sadly as he looked back at her once more, his tongue lolling to the side at her mention of _outside._

“No,” and she laughed a little as his mouth snapped shut. “I didn’t mean you got to go out again,” and she thought she saw him pout a little. “I’m sorry,” and she ruffled his head a little as she began pulling the brush through his hair once more.

Clarke sighed again though, and she worried her lip, she felt the pressure begin to build behind her eyes and she knew she sensed the emotions that began bubbling to the surface.

“The hospital got back to me,” she said after a breath held too long. “They agreed to let you come,” and she wiped away a tear. “So you be on your best behaviour, ok?” and Bruce met her gaze, his eyes turning quiet as a paw reached out and feathered her knee. “I don’t want you breaking anything,” and Clarke smiled as Bruce shuffled over and licked her palm. 

And it hurt. Clarke was sure it would, she was sure it would pain her to see Bruce with Lexa, to see Bruce stare at her. And perhaps Clarke wasn’t sure whether Bruce would understand, and Clarke didn’t know. She couldn’t. But she hoped that Bruce would sense that Lexa wasn’t ignoring him, wasn’t treating him like he had broken something, had done something bad.  

“I’m sorry,” Clarke whispered out quietly. 

But perhaps this time Clarke wasn’t sure what she apologised for.

 

* * *

 

Lexa sighed forcefully, her eyes moving back and forth as she warred with the decision, with the choice and the emotions and panic she felt clawing at her heart. She grimaced a little as she took in the way the light shone off its edge, she grimaced at the way it seemed to catch the light and dance before her eyes.

And it wasn’t that she thought it not attractive. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the answer to her question. And it wasn’t that she knew Clarke wouldn’t like it. But she knew her mind seemed a little dazed. If only because she wished for it to be perfect, for it to be as good as it could be.

But Lexa steeled herself. She grit her teeth and she thought she felt an idea solidify, she thought she felt it harden, sharpen to a point and focus her worries into images of futures and years to come.

And so Lexa nodded once. She nodded twice, eyed the ring for another long moment and then smiled at the woman before her.

“When are you asking?” the woman asked.

“Soon,” Lexa said simply as she began looking through her purse. 

“Clarke will like it,” the woman said. “She already does,” and the woman nodded as she reached under the counter. “I always suggest that if both know they want to get married that it’s a good idea to discuss the ring first, before making any decisions about buying it.”

“Yeah,” and Lexa felt an excitement begin to build as the woman placed the ring in its box, her hand reaching for a small cloth.

“Does she know you’re planning it?”

“No,” and Lexa worried her lip. “I’ve been taking her out every now and then, trying to keep her on her toes,” and she smiled a little as she saw the woman gasp a little in mock shock.

“Poor Clarke,” and the woman laughed quietly as she began to polish the ring carefully.

“She got really excited the first time,” Lexa said as she looked away, a smile beginning to spread. “But then she got mad when we just went to bed.”

“I can imagine.”

“She just looked at me. I could feel her eyes drilling into me for an hour.”

“How many times did you do this?” the woman asked, eyebrow raising.

“Three times.”

“That’s evil,” the woman sighed as she rotated the ring carefully.

“It is,” and Lexa did feel a little remorseful. “But next week will make up for it.”

“It will,” the woman smiled as she spun the box around to face Lexa.

And so Lexa let her gaze fall to the ring, to the way the band shone brightly, to the way the gold seemed to border on a silver, seemed to shimmer through the golden hues. And Lexa swallowed a little tightly as she eyed the way the sapphire glinted and shone and seemed to float in place.

“It’s beautiful,” and Lexa looked up to see the woman eyeing her easily. “She’ll love it,” the woman said.

“I hope so,” Lexa said.

“She will.”

“Thank you,” Lexa said simply, her mind already turning to the days to come.

“You’re welcome.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s finger tapped against her desk, her mind turning over and over and over. And she knew she felt excitement, she knew she felt a little nervous. And she hadn’t felt this way in an age. She hadn’t felt this thrill that seemed to rage through her body since she had played hockey. And she recognised it for what it was. She recognised it for the thrill and the excitement for the unknown, for not knowing how things would play out, but she knew she had prepared, she knew she had rehearsed, had planned and strategised and executed plan after plan. 

“Lex,” and she looked up to see Anya walking to her, a stack of folders in her hand. “You need to sign these before the contract can get started.”

“All of them?”

“Yes,” Anya said as she placed them down in front of her. “Don’t shoot the messenger,” Anya finished as she raised her hands up. 

Lexa’s eyes darted to the clock though, and she gauged how much time she would need to take, how much time she had left.

“What’s up?” Anya asked as she narrowed her eyes.

Lexa sighed then, she pulled her gaze from the clock and she leant back in her chair, hand snaking into her coat pocket as she thumbed over the warm velvet box.

“I’m doing it, tonight.”

“That’s no way to talk about Clarke.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lexa said simply, but she was sure her eyebrow twitched a little at Anya’s words.

“Then wha—” but Anya’s eyes narrowed further. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Lexa said with a smirk.

“It’s on you?” Anya asked as she eyed the way Lexa’s hand remained in her pocket.

“Yeah,” Lexa said. “I can feel it burning into me,” and she swallowed.

“You aren’t freaking out?”

“Not really,” Lexa shrugged. “I’m a little nervous, but I’m good,” she said. “I know Clarke will say yes, and I think it’s good we’ve discussed things,” and she smiled. “So maybe I’m nervous because I want things to go smoothly. But the outcome’s not something I’m worried about.”

“That’s good,” Anya nodded.

“Yeah,” Lexa said, and she was sure a smile must have been spreading across her lips by the way Anya’s eyes rolled. 

“Good luck,” Anya said. “Call me if she dumps you,” Anya laughed. “I’ve always wanted to know someone who got turned down.”

“Thanks,” and Lexa rolled her eyes as Anya nodded once before turning to leave, the sounds of her chuckles seeping out around them.

 

* * *

 

Lexa eyed the box in her hands for a long moment, her eyes tracing the way the light seemed to turn it a shade of purple if she held it just right. She smiled and she thought she felt herself begin to vibrate with an excitement as she listened to the sounds of the shower and the splashing water that echoed out from behind the closed door.

She sighed once more before tucking the box into her purse, careful to keep it covered and then she rose from the side of the bed, the cold of the floorboards prickling her feet as she padded her way to the bathroom. And she smiled as she slipped inside, the heat of the steam warming her body and soothing her nerves as she let her eyes fall to Clarke who smiled at her through the glass of the shower door.

“What were you doing?” Clarke asked, her voice carrying over the water.

“Nothing,” Lexa shrugged as she leant against the door for a moment, eyes happy to wander. 

“Nothing?” and Clarke’s eyebrow raised slightly.

“Nothing,” Lexa said, her eyes moving downwards just a little.

“Are you going to just stare?” Clarke challenged as she rolled her eyes. “Or are you going to join me?” and Clarke let her hands fall to her side.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lexa shrugged as she pushed off the door. “I’m happy to take this all in,” and she laughed as Clarke rolled her eyes again.

And so Lexa smiled more brightly, more fully. Her fingers moved quickly as she stripped, and she smiled and gasped a little at the heat as she stepped into the shower. 

And she enjoyed this. She enjoyed the feel of Clarke’s body pressed against her, she enjoyed the heat of the water, she enjoyed the way Clarke pressed her lips to her collar, and she enjoyed the way the glass felt pressed against her back as Clarke pushed forward, as her hands began to explore and as the sounds of her breathing filled the air.

 

* * *

 

Lexa smiled and pressed her lips to the back of Clarke’s neck as the blonde continued to button her coat. And Lexa inhaled a little then, she let the perfume Clarke wore wind its way through her mind and settle into her thoughts as she felt Clarke shiver just a little at her wandering lips.

“You look lovely,” Lexa whispered as she met Clarke’s gaze in the mirror.

“You do, too,” Clarke blushed. 

But Lexa thought she must have looked dull in comparison to Clarke. She thought her hair must have looked muted when Clarke’s shone, when it caught the light and shimmered happily with each movement Clarke made. She even thought her eyes not so bright, not so catching in comparison to Clarke’s. And she was sure. She was sure it must be so as she met Clarke’s gaze, as she saw the laughter in the blue, as she saw the depths in the barest hints of green she sensed. 

“You’re beautiful,” Lexa said quietly as she kissed under Clarke’s jaw briefly.

“You’re in a happy mood tonight,” Clarke whispered as she turned and let her nose brush against Lexa’s own.

“Tonight’s special,” Lexa said simply, a smirk finding its way across her lips. 

“Tonight?” Clarke questioned quietly, her eyebrows raising for a moment in uncertainty before narrowing. “No,” Clarke said simply. 

“No?” Lexa smiled as she took a step back from Clarke, hands running down the front of her own deep red coat as she checked herself over briefly. 

“Don’t you dare play this game again,” Clarke challenged, her chin lifting.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” but she did. She felt her smile return, and she couldn’t help but feel the thrill bleed into her heart.

“Lexa,” Clarke said, eyes trying to search Lexa’s face.

And so Lexa simply smiled more fully, hands reaching for Clarke as she turned for the door.

“Come on Clarke. We’ll be late.”

 

* * *

 

The lights seemed to cut through the snow that fell softly, gently, with a mind of its own. And Lexa loved it. She loved the way the cold chilled her face, the way it made her seem alive, the way it made her breathe more deeply. And she smiled as she brought Clarke closer to her, as they continued to walk over the iced ground underfoot and as they made their way to the restaurant and its glowing sign that seemed to beckon them forward.

And she smiled at Clarke’s silence, she smiled at the way Clarke seemed to shift a little with each step, and Lexa thought she knew Clarke sensed the difference this time. She thought she sensed the eagerness, the unwillingness to wait for whatever was to come.

And she loved it.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s fork clinked against the plate lightly, Clarke’s did too. But she didn’t quite remember what the food tasted like. She didn’t quite remember what drink she sipped from. And she knew it would have been nice. She knew it was nice. That it was delicious, that it would be something she may come back to in years to come. But for right now. For this very moment she thought she couldn’t even try to focus on much more than the way Clarke looked at her, the way the blonde seemed to hold her gaze, the way her eyes would follow the movements of her hand or eye each plate brought in front of her carefully, or the way she would peer into each wine glass for a long moment before taking a bite or sip.

“How was your day?” Lexa asked simply. 

“You know,” Clarke said, eyes turning back to hers. 

“But I’d like you to tell me again,” Lexa said, her chin raising, an eyebrow raising.

“Come on, Lex,” Clarke whispered as she eyed the way Lexa’s hand disappeared under the table for a moment.

“What?” Lexa asked as she blinked a few times in confusion.

“I hate you,” Clarke said simply.

“I love you, too,” Lexa smiled.

 

* * *

 

The drive seemed a little slower now. It seemed to go for long enough that Lexa could feel the thrill really take hold, really bring a gentle shake to her fingers. And she knew she sensed Clarke’s slight annoyance now, she knew she sensed Clarke’s acceptance that the night hadn’t gone the way she had anticipated. But Lexa didn’t mind. She didn’t mind. 

And she didn’t mind because she knew the next turn would change the night. And she knew that turning left would take them home, would take them to the warmth of their shared bed, to the warmth of Clarke’s embrace and the tickles of Clarke’s hair that would brush against her face.

But Lexa also knew that turning right would lead them away from their home. She knew it would lead them to the lake, and she knew the fires would already burn at its edge. She knew the fires would glow, would catch on the mist that rose from the lake’s surface and would set the ice aflame in the moonlight that settled around them. 

And she knew Clarke would know. 

And so she slowed her car, she eyed the traffic, and she smiled as she heard the gasp and the intake of breath as she started to pull the car right, as she tried to ignore the smile that spread across her lips and to the squeal she knew she heard Clarke try to stifle as realisation dawned on the blonde.

 

* * *

 

Lexa almost couldn’t quite hold back the laugh as Clarke exited the car even before it had come to a stop. But she knew Clarke knew now, and so, as Clarke pulled their skates free, as she began moving down to the lake’s edge without Lexa, she felt her fingers really tremble, she felt her heart really begin to beat. 

And so Lexa’s hand fell to her pocket, she thumbed the small box and she let her breaths turn even, she let them soothe her mind and she tried to focus on the words she wanted to say, on the words she knew she had to voice. 

And she loved it.

 

* * *

 

Clarke clung to her, Clarke’s arm held her hand firmly, and she could feel the way the blonde shadowed her motions as they moved across the ice, as they drifted back and forth, the only sounds to reach them, the only sounds to break their quiet moment being the gentle scrape of metal against frozen lake.

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke whispered as she looked up into the sky

And Lexa thought it was. She thought the way the moon danced with the mist beautiful, she thought the way the flames had spread out around them, carried by the mist, beautiful. She thought the reflection of the little light this far out onto the lake beautiful. And most of all she thought Clarke beautiful.

“It is,” Lexa whispered as she looked to Clarke.

And she knew Clarke knew. She knew Clarke felt what was to come. 

And so Lexa smiled, just a little thing, just enough that her lips lifted a little, that her cheek twitched just slightly.

“You’re beautiful,” Lexa whispered as she began to slow their motion forward, as her hand thumbed over the small box in her pocket.

And Lexa took in the lake once more. She took in the way the edges of the lake bled into the darkness, she took in the way the fires that dotted the lake’s edge glowed gently, and she took in the way the flames seemed to flicker and dance in the distance as the wind breathed around them softly. 

And most of all, Lexa took the time to memorise the way she felt. She took the time to sear the images she saw into her mind. And she took the time to meet Clarke’s gaze, to eye the way the blonde seemed to breathe just a little breathlessly now, the way her lips parted ever so slightly, and the way her eyes seemed to dart back and forth as they shared a breath.

“I love you,” Lexa whispered as she turned, as she let herself begin to glide backwards across the ice as she held onto Clarke’s hand. “I love you,” and Clarke swallowed tightly, and Lexa felt her eyes water just a little, just enough that she knew she cared. “I love you,” Lexa reached into her pocket once more.

“Lexa,” Clarke whispered, her eyes following the motions of her hand. 

“I love you, Clarke,” and Lexa waited until they came to a stop, until all that surrounded them was the ice and the flaming mist and the glow of a faraway moon.

Lexa took in one deep breath, she closed her eyes and the let herself smile more fully than she thought she had ever done before.

“I love you,” Lexa repeated. And it was simple. It was the easiest thing she had said. It was the easiest truth she had admitted. But most importantly? It was the truth.

And so Lexa knelt down slowly, her eyes not leaving Clarke’s, and she smiled. She blinked once, just enough that the wetness that seemed to cling to her eyes cleared enough that she could gaze upon Clarke fully. And it was cold. The ice met her knee with a bite and a chill. But Lexa didn’t mind, she couldn’t mind. Couldn’t even really consider it. 

Her hand came free then, and she knew her heart beat in her chest with a ferocity that raged her pulse.

And she smiled as Clarke’s eyes closed for a long moment, as Clarke’s lips trembled, and as Clarke laughed a choked sound as Lexa opened the box carefully.

And perhaps Lexa imagined it, perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her. 

But Lexa was sure she saw the moon’s light dance on Clarke’s face as the blonde’s eyes fell onto the ring, as her eyes widened and as she began to cry.

And Lexa Woods didn’t mind that she found herself crying, too.

Because she loved Clarke Griffin.

 

* * *

 

Clarke took in a deep breath and she held it for so long that she thought her lungs would burst and burn and shrivel inside her. Bruce whimpered besides her too. And Clarke was sure Bruce could smell Lexa now, she was sure Bruce could sense the other woman just behind the door. And Clarke hoped and pleaded that Bruce would understand, could understand what had happened. 

But all she had was hope.

And so she pushed the door open carefully, and perhaps she couldn’t help but smile just a little as Bruce tried rushing into the room, as Bruce tugged on his leash and as he tried fighting his way to where Lexa lay on the bed.

Clarke closed the door, and she winced as the leash cut into her palm a little. But perhaps she needed that physical pain, if only so that it could distract from the hurt she felt searing into her mind.

Bruce made it to Lexa’s side though, and Clarke felt the tears begin to fall as Bruce rose up on his hind legs, as he reached forward and whimpered as he licked Lexa’s face. Or whatever parts of it he could reach through the tubes and wires that seemed to be a part of Lexa now. 

And maybe Clarke should have tried to stop Bruce, should have pulled him free lest he damage something. But she was selfish. And so for just a moment she let Bruce feel the pain she felt herself.

And it hurt. It hurt her to see the realisation dawn on Bruce, it hurt her to see his enthusiasm turn to confusion. And it hurt Clarke to see Bruce begin to whimper, begin to paw gently at Lexa’s arm. 

And Clarke wasn’t surprised when her vision blurred fully as her shoulders shook. And it didn’t surprise her when Bruce became gentle, when he leapt onto Lexa’s bed cautiously, carefully.

And it hurt Clarke to see Bruce look back to her with tears in his eyes before he laid his head across Lexa’s chest as he licked her just once more.

And it hurt.

“I know, Bruce,” Clarke whispered to him. “I miss her too.”


	9. Twenty-Nine

 

Clarke took a moment to compose herself, long enough that the hand she had resting against the wall didn’t shake so much. But perhaps this day was different. Perhaps this day was something that she thought she should try to remember fully, try to not forget. 

And so she took in a deep breath, she held it for too long. For long enough that her lungs screamed a little, for long enough that her heart ached from the discomfort. And then she exhaled, and perhaps she wished the exhale had been steady, had been sure. But she knew it came out broken and ragged. 

And perhaps she didn’t know if she cared anymore.

She reached out then, and she felt herself disconnected from what she saw herself do. But she thought that the only way she could even start. And so Clarke blinked enough to clear her tears as she took in the clothes that hung in front of her. She took in the colours, the reds, the shades that seemed to shift just a little, that seemed to exist together and blend and bleed and mix into something that should have been happy, that should have been a memory of happier times.

But Clarke thought it did little more than remind her of a future she knew she wouldn’t have. 

Clarke began to rifle through the clothes slowly, her mind trying to decide which shade of red she thought was the best, which one she thought would look the best. And she hated it. She hated the way her heart seemed to break even more than she thought possible. 

And Clarke eyed the dress she saw, the one she had seen Lexa try on only to complain that it was a little too short, she eyed the darker red jumper that Bruce had chewed on a little too vigorously as a puppy. And she eyed the deep red of the coat that hung set apart from the other clothes. And perhaps Clarke had gone into this trial telling herself that she didn’t know what clothes to choose.

But perhaps Clarke had lied to herself, had merely told herself she hadn’t already decided months ago. If only because she knew. She knew which coat she would choose, which one to clean, which one to check over carefully, which one would look perfect. 

Clarke reached out then, her fingers brushed off what little dust seemed to settle over the coat’s shoulder. But it didn’t surprise her when she found it clean, when she found it spotless. And it didn’t surprise her because she had made sure it would be perfect, she had made sure it would be ready when it came to it.

Clarke bit her lip too harshly, she bit her lip until she tasted blood, until she felt the pain. But perhaps it was more preferable to what was beginning to take hold in her mind.

And so Clarke felt herself fall to her knees slowly as she cradled Lexa’s coat to her tightly, and perhaps she tried to remember Lexa’s laugh, and maybe she tried to recall Lexa’s smirk, the way her chin would raise in defiance, the way her lip would twitch a little as she tried to hide a smile.

But most of all, Clarke tried to remember Lexa.

 

* * *

 

“First off,” and Lexa glanced briefly to Clarke who sat besides her. “I can not believe you decided to call him that.”

“Hey,” Lexa said as she turned back to the road. “You chose the breed. I chose the name. That was the deal.”

“Bruce, Lexa. _Bruce_ ,” and Lexa tried to silence the laugh she felt bubble on her lips.

“Maybe you should have decided to choose the name, then,” Lexa challenged, and she knew she sensed Clarke roll her eyes.

“There is no way I was letting you choose what kind of dog we got,” Clarke said. “I saw the entire folder of pictures you had,” Clarke continued, hands gesturing in front of her. “Half those dogs were huge.”

“They were real dogs,” Lexa said simply, her mind turning back to the images of the beasts she had collected, to the ones that had made her dream of great wars, of fierce companions that would cause any to pause, to reconsider whatever it was that they were to consider.

“They were meat eating horses,” Clarke said.

Lexa scoffed then, but she felt her lips pull up at the corners more fully as Clarke sighed and crossed her arms. 

“Yeah,” Lexa said. “Real dogs.”

“Bruce is going to be cute,” Clarke said instead of continuing to argue, and Lexa couldn’t help but laugh at the way Clarke’s voice took on a dreamy quality.

“He will be,” Lexa said simply.

 

* * *

 

Lexa had never quite contemplated what it must be like to have children, if only because she had realised at a young age she probably wasn’t so attracted to the other half of what was required for a child to be produced. But perhaps she now realised the difficulties. If only because she watched as Clarke ran after Bruce, the puppy happy to explore a little too fearlessly, his tail wagging haphazardly as he ran out of the room.

She laughed as she heard Clarke call out Bruce’s name, and she heard the thump as the puppy ran into something a little more solid than himself. And so Lexa sighed a little as she rose from the couch and followed the noises of Clarke and Bruce.

Lexa couldn’t help but feel a little clenching of her heart as she walked into their bedroom to find Clarke lying on the bed, Bruce cradled in her arms as she tickled his belly. Clarke looked up then, and Lexa felt her smile return more fiercely as Bruce began to nibble at Clarke’s fingers, the puppy’s tail slapping against Clarke’s wrist.

“I love him,” Clarke whispered as she looked back down to Bruce.

And perhaps she could understand why Clarke had chosen a retriever. If only because Bruce did have floppy ears that seemed to bounce with the slightest of movements. And perhaps she thought him cute, and at least he’d play fetch. 

 

* * *

 

“Twenty-Nine, Lexa,” Anya said, an eyebrow raising. “You’re getting old.”

“I am,” Lexa said with a laugh. 

“You and Clarke doing anything?” Anya asked.

“Not too sure,” Lexa said as she glanced up in thought. “Clarke’s probably got something planned,” Lexa finished as she eyed the way Bruce stole a piece of food from Anya’s plate.

Anya noticed though, and Lexa smiled a little as she saw the woman glare at Bruce who merely tilted his head, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he snuffed at her a little before licking her knee.

“You’re lucky you’re too cute for me to be mad at,” Anya crooned as she scooped Bruce up, her fingers already tickling his belly.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Lexa warned, her eyes narrowing at the way Bruce barked happily, the way his belly seemed to tighten a little.

“Why?” Anya glared as she pulled Bruce more tightly to her as she began to rock him. “He’s too cute to attack me.”

“Yeah,” and Lexa shrugged as she leant back a little.

“Isn’t that right? Brucey,” Anya whispered to the puppy. “You’re just too cu—”

And Bruce threw up.

Lexa laughed as she scooted back further. But she grimaced, too, as the congealed remainders of Anya’s sandwich gurgled out of his mouth and slimed their way onto Anya’s lap.

“What the fuck,” Anya said as she pulled Bruce from her, as she held him at arm’s length and stared at the mess in her lap.

“I told you,” Lexa laughed. “Clarke made the same mistake yesterday,” she finished as she took Bruce from Anya.

But she didn’t think Bruce cared too much by the way his tail continued to wag, from the way his tongue continued to loll out of his mouth and the way his ears flapped happily.

“Good boy,” Lexa whispered as she ruffled his head. 

 

* * *

 

It was nearing dark by the time Lexa made her way to the front door. Her eyes found the light that glowed out from the windows of her shared apartment and she felt the smile spread a little at Bruce’s small head that appeared out from behind the curtains, his eyes snapping to her almost immediately. Lexa waved then, and she saw Bruce jump as high as he could before darting out from the curtains, and she knew she’d find him waiting for her, and she was sure his motions would alert Clarke to her presence, too.

And Lexa laughed just a little as she heard his paws thump against the floor as her key began to scrape against the lock. But the door opened, and Lexa squinted briefly as her eyes adjusted to the light from inside.

“Hey,” Clarke whispered, and Lexa smiled as she saw Clarke cradling Bruce to her, the puppy happy to lick her neck a little before trying to reach for Lexa.

“Hey,” Lexa said as she stood in the doorway, the chill of the snow around her doing little to distract from the way Clarke glowed brightly in the warm light.

“Come in,” Clarke said as she stepped aside, a sly smile spreading across her lips.

“What?” Lexa asked as she eyed the way Clarke’s clothes seemed to hug her a little more tightly than usual.

“You look nice,” Clarke said simply. 

“I look the same as this morning,” Lexa said.

“Well,” and Clarke smiled. “You looked nice this morning, too.”

And so Lexa rolled her eyes as she stepped inside, as she closed the door behind her and turned to face Clarke once more.

But she couldn’t help but gasp as Clarke let Bruce down from where she cradled him to her chest. And Lexa gasped at the way Clarke’s top dipped lowly, the way it seemed to bend and curve enough for her eyes to wander, for her mind to swirl. 

“Happy birthday, Lexa,” Clarke said, her eyes shining as Lexa met her gaze.

“Thanks,” and Lexa was sure her voice came out just a little more dry than usual, just a little less sure, less certain. 

“The bath is waiting,” Clarke said simply as she turned and began walking.

“Bath?” Lexa asked, eyes tracing the way Clarke’s hips swayed in the shadows and dimmed lights.

“It’s waiting,” Clarke called over her shoulder.

And so Lexa swallowed as she kicked off her shoes and glanced down at Bruce who looked up at her, his eyes wide, his tail wagging.

“I don’t think you’re old enough for whatever’s about to happen, Bruce,” Lexa whispered to him.

Lexa began to follow Clarke’s retreating steps, and as she turned a corner she found Clarke waiting for her as she leant against the bathroom doorframe, her head cocked to the side.

“Go,” Clarke said, her voice hardening a little, her eyes glancing into the bathroom. 

And this was different. It wasn’t that Lexa had ever felt herself easy to boss around, easily swayed. But the way Clarke’s voice turned cold, the way her eyes remained sharp, shining, brought a prickle to Lexa’s skin. And Lexa was sure she sensed an energy in the other woman, she was sure she sensed the more of her words.

And perhaps Lexa simply found herself eager.

And so she swallowed once more, she met Clarke’s gaze that remained transfixed on her and she began to enter the bathroom.

“Take your clothes off,” Clarke whispered to her as she stepped into the bathroom. “Close the door and I want you in the bath,” and Lexa couldn’t help but whimper a little. 

And so Lexa closed the door behind her, and as she turned to face the bath she couldn’t help but gasp out quietly, couldn’t help but take in a breath. 

Lexa took in the candles that flickered, she took in the way they illuminated the tile, the shining metal and the glass that echoed out around her. But Lexa’s gaze fell to the bath, to the heat of the water that misted and steamed her vision, that seemed aglow from the candles. Bubbles appeared to swell over its surface, and as Lexa breathed in she knew she recognised the scent. She knew she recognised Clarke. 

And perhaps Lexa could be forgiven for shuddering, for breathing out shakily.

But perhaps most of all, she could be forgiven for feeling that prickle against her skin, that slight quickening of her pulse as she registered that Clarke remained by the door. And Lexa was sure she heard the other woman undressing, and as she glanced behind her, as she glanced at the bottom of the door and the crack of light that shone through, she was sure she saw movement, she was sure she saw the faintest shadow of something fall away from Clarke’s body.

And so Lexa turned back to the bath, her fingers just a little shaky as she began to undress. The warmth of the mist and steam around her made her shiver, made her skin prickle though. And she knew it wasn’t because of the warmth. If only because she knew she heard the telltale sound of Clarke’s lighter underwear falling to the ground with little more than a sigh.

And Lexa found herself standing bare, she found herself moving towards the bath, and she paused. She paused for long enough to settle her mind as much as she could and to steady her breathing as much as she could.

And then she stepped over the bath’s lip, her toes careful as she entered the water, and she couldn’t help but gasp at the heat, she couldn’t help but whimper to the burn of the water as it began to soothe her body. And she inhaled deeply, she let the scents infuse themselves with her mind, she let the bubbles and salts prickle and feather her flesh, and as she started to lower herself into the water’s scolding embrace she felt her pulse begin to quicken, she felt her body begin to flush and the blood through her veins begin to rush.

“Close your eyes,” Clarke’s voice echoed out around her, and as Lexa leant back, as she let the warmth of the bath’s edge steady her shoulders, as she let her head rest against the bath’s end, she tried not to imagine, she tried not to picture the way Clarke must look as the candles flickered their heat, as they warmed her body, as they glowed against the curves of her flesh and brought shadows along the length of her body.

“No looking,” Clarke whispered, and Lexa couldn’t help to start at the closeness of Clarke’s voice now, she couldn’t help but to start at the way Clarke’s breath ghosted against her cheek. And she was sure Clarke knelt besides her, she was sure Clarke looked at her now, and she was sure Clarke’s hair must have glowed and flamed in the light.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispered, her voice broken and quiet.

“No looking,” Clarke whispered once more.

And Lexa whimpered, she let the sounds slip past her lips, and she knew she couldn’t help but to feel the thrill course through her body as she felt Clarke enter the bath, as she felt Clarke’s leg brush against her own.

“No looking,” Clarke whispered, and Lexa was sure Clarke stood over her. And she was sure when she felt Clarke begin to lower herself into the bath, too.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispered once more, her eyes held shut, her pulse beating furiously.

“Shhh,” and it was all it took, and the subtle brush of Clarke’s finger against her lip was all Lexa needed. All she wanted.

And Lexa felt Clarke settle herself over her, she felt the weight of Clarke against her, she felt the water breathe between them, and she felt the prickle of the heat of Clarke’s skin against her own.

“Clarke,” and perhaps Lexa couldn’t be blamed for voicing her want in this moment. 

And as Clarke’s body straddled Lexa’s, and as Lexa felt them brush together, as she felt Clarke’s hand brush down her neck, as she felt Clarke’s lips ghost against hers, she couldn’t help but to chase after them with her own lips, couldn’t help but to want to look, want to see, want to take in the way Clarke must have looked.

And as Clarke’s hands began to wander, as her lips began to brush against her flesh and as her own breathing began to fill the quiet, Lexa was sure she heard Clarke whisper out to her.

“Happy birthday.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke with a start. It took her longer than usual before her eyes began to clear the memories, before her mind began to register the walls that surrounded her. And perhaps this time it took her longer than usual to accept the realities of her situation, perhaps this time it took her longer to want to accept what her world had become.

And so she sat up a little more fully in her chair, her neck protesting the movements as she stretched a little, as she rolled her shoulders and tried to shift her legs. Clarke sighed then, she sighed and she tried not to let her eyes meet the clock on the wall, she tried not to be distracted by the sounds of the machines and she tried not to be brought to tears. 

And she tried. She tried not to feel the pain, she tried not to feel the hurt. She tried not to feel helpless, broken, desperate. But perhaps most of all she tried not to feel alone. She tried not to feel alone in the room, and perhaps this one time she tried not to cry, she tried not to embrace the pain. 

And she knew this time it was different. She knew this time was the last. And so she closed her eyes tightly, she held them shut so tightly that she saw stars shift and dance through her vision. And she felt the pain, she felt the pain as her nails dug into her palms, she felt the pain as her jaw clenched too tightly, and she felt the pressure building. She felt the pain building behind her eyes. 

Clarke began to shake her head back the forth then, she began to shake it, and she knew her hair must have been a mess, she knew knots must have formed.

She knew.

And it hurt. Clarke heard the sounds of her own breathing begin to meet the sounds of the machines. She knew she heard her own breathing begin to overcome the whirring of _that_ machine. She knew it took it over, she knew it overpowered it. 

But who could blame her? Who could blame her for feeling the hurt and the loss?

Clarke felt the tears begin to fall then, she felt them begin to stream down her face and she felt her shoulders shake. She felt her heart break more than it ever had.

But perhaps she embraced it. And she did. She did embrace the hurt, she did embrace the truth. And she did, if only because it told her that it was real. It told her that the experiences weren’t fake. And it told her that the love she had felt was worth it. It told her that the memories she had fought for, that she had held onto, that had helped her wake up each day were worth it.

But she hated it. She hated the realisation, the recognition of what this last moment of wakefulness meant.

And it took Clarke far too long to gather her thoughts, it took her far too long to settle her breathing enough that she could look up at the clock that hung on the wall.

And it took her a long moment of blinking through the tears before she could see the time, before she could follow the ticking of the clock. And she followed as it ticked to each second that passed. She followed it as the minutes began to advance. And she watched as time seemed to slow, seemed to speed on its own. She watched as time ticked by, as the minute hand moved past midnight, as it heralded a new day. And she watched as the second hand simply continued on with little thought to the pain that filled her mind.

Clarke took a breath then. She blinked and she moved from her seat. And she forced her eyes to fall to Lexa’s body, to the way it seemed more shell, more husk of what she used to be. 

Clarke knelt down then, she let her knees bleed into the cold of the floor and she embraced it. She embraced the chill that ran through her body. If only because it let her feel just a little closer to Lexa.

Clarke reached out then, and she was sure her hand shook, she was sure her tears began falling once more. But she let her fingers find Lexa’s, she let her hand squeeze and she let her body shake.

And the truth of her thoughts seemed unfair, unkind.

But the truth of them was simple. 

It always had been. 

And she knew that there had still been time.

Until one day there wouldn’t be any left.

But perhaps Clarke Griffin-Woods had wished that time would have given her a little more.

If only because she loved Lexa Griffin-Woods.

“There’s no more time, Lexa,” Clarke whispered. “I’m sorry,” and she didn’t really know what to do now, she didn’t know what to think. “If you’re going to do something it has to be now,” and Clarke bit her lip so harshly that she knew she split it, that she reopened the scar that had formed. “I love you,” Clarke choked. But perhaps loving was simply not enough. “You’re thirty-two today, Lexa,” and Clarke reached out, her finger brushing away a strand of hair from Lexa’s forehead. “Happy birthday.”


	10. Thirty-One

 

The sounds of the machines whirring, the sounds of them beeping every so often seemed to fade into the background. But Clarke thought that maybe she had just become used to them, Clarke thought that perhaps she had heard them so much that she had learnt to tune them out, had learnt to ignore the constant interruption to her thoughts.

And she knew that was something she didn’t much like. She knew it was something she resented happening, something she resented growing immune to. If only because it told her she had spent too long surrounded by the pain. 

She brushed a finger across Lexa’s cheek then, and perhaps she tried to imagine what it would feel like to have Lexa lean into the gesture. And Clarke knew she tried to picture the way Lexa’s eyes used to blink open to the morning light, the way Lexa would snuggle just a little closer in the warmth of their bed before flinging the sheets off them both with a laugh and a smile. Perhaps Clarke just tried to remember.

But Clarke took a breath then, she held it for as long as she could, she held it until she felt her lungs cry out in panic. And just before she felt her fingers begin to tremble, just before she felt her mind begin to fray, she let it out in a sigh that seemed less sure, less firm to her.

And she repeated the motion.

She took in a breath, she made sure that it was deep enough that her lungs filled to the brim before exhaling.

And maybe she tried to match the way Lexa’s chest would rise slowly, too slowly, too helplessly.

If only so that she could feel just a little closer to the woman she loved.

 

* * *

 

Lexa ran hard, she ran fast. Or perhaps not so fast. Not so hard. And she laughed. She laughed as she saw Bruce slip, as she saw him wobble and then slide across the iced ground. Lexa reached him quickly, Bruce already rising to his feet as he shook the snow from him. 

Lexa sighed though. She sighed because she knew the snow would cling to his hair, she knew it would clump it together at the ends and she knew she would have to carry him home once he exhausted himself at the park. 

But Lexa didn’t mind so much. Not anymore. And so she smiled as she picked up the stick Bruce dropped at her feet.

“Ready, Bruce,” she asked as she knelt down in front of him as he ducked and bobbed in front of her with a snuff and a bark.

Lexa laughed out as she threw the stick, and she watched as Bruce darted after it, his ears flapping with each bounding step he took as he tried to crash through the snow.

“You spoil him, Lexa,” and Lexa looked up to see her father smiling past the cup in his hands. 

“He deserves it,” she challenged as she rose to her feet, eyes finding Bruce’s golden head as he tried to make his way back to her, stick clamped in his jaws.

“He does,” he replied before gesturing to a bench not far from them. “How’s Clarke?” 

“Good,” Lexa smiled as she brushed a flake of snow from his shoulder. “Work’s been busy for her so she’s been getting home late the last couple days,” she sighed a little. “But she’s enjoying it. She doesn’t mind the late nights because of the kids,” and Lexa looked up into the Sunday sky to see it darkening just a little.

“So,” he said and Lexa narrowed her eyes a little as she saw him tilt his head to the side. “Speaking of kids,” and he laughed as he saw her eyes roll.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Lexa said as she sat, feet clapping together briefly to clear the snow. 

“There’s no rush,” he laughed. “But since retiring I wouldn’t mind having little Clarkes and Lexas running around.”

“Oh, so it would all be for you?” Lexa challenged.

“Yes,” and she watched as he carded a few fingers through his greying beard. “For me.”

“You’ve got Bruce,” Lexa said as she turned to see the dog trip as he made his way back to them. 

“I do,” he laughed. 

Lexa worried her lip a little though, and she turned to face her father fully and she waited until his eyes met hers before she continued.

“We’ve been thinking about it,” Lexa said simply. “I think Bruce was almost a test or trial,” she shrugged. “Just to make sure we could,” and she worried her lip again. “That doesn’t sound bad, does it?” 

“Not at all, Lexa,” he said, and she was sure she saw his eyes smile and crinkle at the edges. 

“But yeah,” and Lexa shrugged as she nudged her father’s shoulder with her own. “We’ve thought about it.”

“I expect many grandchildren,” he said simply as he leant back against the bench.

“Many grandchildren?” Lexa asked, and she was sure her eyebrow raised a little.

“Yes,” he said, and she knew she heard the rumble in his voice as he nudged her shoulder with his own.

“We’ll see,” and Lexa threw the stick and she watched as Bruce took after it, his body bounding through the snow as it flung clumps of the white in all directions.

“It’s not as cold as it used to be,” her father said then, and Lexa saw him eye the way the snow clung to the tree tops.

“It’s not,” she agreed.

“It comes and goes,” he shrugged. “Maybe next season will be a better one,” and he crossed his arms as he looked out over the park.

“Maybe,” Lexa agreed.

They fell into conversation then, and Lexa found herself enjoying the way Bruce would bound back to her with stick in mouth, the way he would sometimes jump up at her father, and the way he would scamper after the stick with each throw.

And she enjoyed it. She enjoyed the cold, despite it’s slight warmth, but perhaps she hoped that next winter would bring a chill with just a little stronger bite to it. But she didn’t mind. Not much, anyway. Not when her life had taken the turn it had, had taken her the direction it had.

“I should probably get him inside soon,” Lexa sighed as she watched Bruce jump up into her father’s arms. “Clarke’s going to be angry if he has frozen knots in his hair again.”

But as Lexa eyed the way Bruce seemed happy to lick at her father’s fingers, the way the too old puppy seemed happy to squirm and bark happily, and the way her father cooed gently at the dog, Lexa was sure she wasn’t heard.

 

* * *

 

Lexa grimaced a little as Bruce began to squirm in her arms as she made her way over the snowy ground. She found herself enjoying his warmth though, and as the wind picked up a little more firmly Lexa buried her face into his hair for a moment.

But she sighed, she fumbled with him in her arms and she tried tugging her scarf a little from her neck as she neared the door, the crack of light that shone at its base enough to draw Bruce’s attention.

“Hold on,” Lexa whispered to him, and she smiled as she felt his tail slap against her side as he wriggled a little more enthusiastically than she’d prefer.

It took Lexa only a moment longer of fumbling blindly for her keys before she managed to open the door and set Bruce down, and so she smiled, she laughed a little and she rolled her shoulders as she closed the door behind her as Bruce ran off in search of Clarke.

Lexa called out then, her voice filling the hallway as her ears picked up the sounds of movement and laughter deeper in the apartment.

“In here,” Clarke called, and Lexa felt her cheeks twitch as she hung her coat.

And so Lexa let her ears guide her, she let the sounds of quiet barking and laughter bring her closer. And as she turned a corner into the living room she found Clarke holding Bruce’s cheeks between her hands as the dog wriggled with little thought for the cold he had just escaped from.

“Did you even exercise him?” Clarke asked as she looked up.

“Yes,” Lexa said as she kicked off her shoes and sat in a deep chair. “He just has a lot of energy.”

Clarke laughed as she ruffled Bruce’s head once more before standing and gesturing to the kitchen.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, hand held out for Lexa. “Come on.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s feet padded across the snow carefully, her eyes taking in the way the snow and light from the overhead lamps shone and dappled through the mist. She looked out around them though, and perhaps it was the weather, perhaps it was the slightly less cold chill that seemed to have pervaded the lands. But Lexa was sure she saw more people out at this late an hour, she was sure she saw more people willing to brave the cold as they made their way to the lake. 

And who could blame them? 

It wasn’t often that the weather was warm enough, despite the snow that had fallen, to allow people to enjoy the way the leafless trees reached up into the sky, the way the mist seemed to always dance up in its exploration of the lands. 

And Lexa enjoyed it. 

“What?” Clarke asked from besides her, the woman’s arm tucked through Lexa’s own.

“It’s nice,” Lexa shrugged simply, her gaze meeting Clarke’s. “We don’t often get to see it like this,” Lexa finished as she gestured around them. 

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed as she pulled them a little closer together as they continued to walk. “It’s nice when it’s not so cold. At least we can walk about and enjoy it and not freeze to death.”

“You think Bruce is going to behave for Anya?” Lexa laughed, but she felt just a little guilt tick away at the back of her mind as she recalled the way Bruce had looked at their retreating bodies through the window, the way he had pawed at them, his eyes just a little sad despite Anya’s offer of food and chew toys.

“He will,” Clarke said and Lexa knew she must have been thinking the same. “Anya wouldn’t tell us if he did something bad anyway. She loves him too much, and its your birthday. She wouldn’t want to ruin that either.”

“She does love him,” and Lexa smiled as she bumped the side of her beanie covered head against Clarke’s.

Lexa held out a hand then, and she paused for a moment as she helped Clarke step over an icy patch. And they shared a smile then, something a little bashful, a little quiet. But something warm all the same. And perhaps it was the conversation with her father, perhaps it was the way Clarke smiled slightly, the way her nose scrunched up just a bit. Or perhaps it was simply the truth of her thoughts that caused Lexa to not be able to shake what flit through her mind.

And so she hitched the skates higher over her shoulder, she let her gaze linger on a family that walked ahead of them, to the two children that held the hand of a father, that ran after a mother. And she smiled.

“What?” Clarke asked as she followed Lexa’s gaze.

“He mentioned children again,” Lexa said simply. And she knew Clarke would know who she spoke of, and she knew Clarke would understand.

“What did you say?” Clarke asked.

“I said we were considering it,” and Lexa worried her lip as she eyed Clarke. “We are, aren’t we?”

Clarke smiled then, and Lexa felt a surprise at the little apprehension that seemed to fade without her realising it had appeared.

“We are,” and Clarke hummed a little as she eyed the way the father swung one of the children by the arms. “You’d make a good mother,” Clarke finished as she leant her head against Lexa’s shoulder. 

And perhaps that thought caused just a small sense of worry to build once more. If only because it seemed a milestone, a large step. A new step in their lives.

“You would make a better one,” Lexa said simply. And she believed it. If only because she couldn’t imagine Clarke as anything less.

“We both would,” Clarke countered. And Lexa felt the conviction in Clarke’s words, in the way her voice reached out to her.

But as she thought over Clarke’s words. As she considered them, as she considered what she had said. She felt the realisation dawn on her, she felt the happiness that seemed to fill her mind. And she felt the truth of what she was to say next.

And so she turned fully to face Clarke, she paused them in their steps and she smiled.

“We both would.”

 

* * *

 

The lake, to Lexa’s surprise, seemed more busy, and as she looked out at the people that skated past, as she saw the children slide, even those in the distance that passed a puck between them, she thought it just a little ironic that all it took for people to appreciate the freezing of water was the slightly warmer temperature that had settled around them this night.

“It’s busy,” Clarke said from besides her as they both continued to glide across the lake.

“It is,” Lexa shrugged. But perhaps she didn’t mind.

And she knew she didn’t. Not when she had Clarke by her side, not when the moon shone brightly, and not when the ever present mist drifted around them, and not when the flames that burnt in the campfires on the lake’s edge even now brightened the lake’s surface.

“Do you miss it?” Clarke asked then, and Lexa followed her gaze to where the children passed a puck between them.

“Sometimes,” Lexa shrugged. And perhaps she took a moment to think about what it was that she missed, what it was that she didn’t experience anymore. “Not much though,” and she held Clarke a little closer. “I always knew it would come to an end,” and she heard Clarke hum quietly besides her. “I didn’t think it would last forever, and that’s ok,” and she did believe that.

“Even still,” and Lexa was sure Clarke let her brows furrow, and Lexa was sure Clarke would have that little quirk in the corner of her mouth as she tried to think of the words she wanted to voice. “If you could have continued? If you could have held onto it for a little longer despite knowing it was coming to an end, would you have?” 

And would she have done so? 

“No,” and Lexa smiled as she met Clarke’s eyes. “All things have to end someday, Clarke,” and she laughed a little quietly to herself as Clarke’s eyes rolled. “It just means we have to find new things that help fill that void,” and Lexa sighed a little then, but she couldn’t help but feel a little less sad than she should as she felt Clarke hold onto her a little more tightly. “But no, Clarke,” and Lexa squeezed Clarke’s side just briefly. “I don’t miss it because I’ve got you now,” and she laughed as Clarke’s eyes rolled.

“You sap,” Clarke said.

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” and Clarke brushed a hair from her eyes. “I d—”

Lexa’s head shot up at the sound of yelling. It took her a moment for her eyes to snap to where the children playing hockey had been. And it took her a moment to register the fear, the shock, the surprise that flashed across their faces. It took her a moment longer to register the cracking she felt reverberate through the ice, it took her a second to realise that the children had begun to race from the centre of the lake, from where the ice must be cracking.

“Wha—” Clarke’s voice trailed off as she looked to the commotion, and Lexa sensed others near her begin to realise the danger, the situation. 

“Move,” Lexa hissed as she saw others beginning to skate back to the lake’s edge, and she knew she sensed parents grabbing children, she sensed friends guiding friends. 

Lexa grabbed Clarke’s arm then, and she glanced behind her to see a crack already beginning to form, already beginning to spread across the lake’s surface. It wasn’t that she had never experienced ice cracking before either, it wasn’t that she didn’t know how to get herself out of the ice if she ever happened to fall through. But perhaps this time she felt a slight tremor in her grip as she continued to push Clarke ahead of her, and perhaps this time she felt worry for Clarke, she felt worry for the people around her. And maybe she felt a sense of dread at the warmer temperatures this winter, at the less cold winter season that they had experienced.

But Lexa heard it again. She heard the sounds of the ice tearing, she heard the sounds of the crack echoing out through the ice under them. And she looked to see most of the people already at the Lake’s edge, and she knew they’d make it, too, she knew she’d be able to get Clarke and herself to the Lake’s edge before anything worse could happen.

But she heard it. 

A cry for help echoed out around them, and Lexa saw heads in front of her turn, she saw adults snap their gaze to the sounds of a child’s cry, she saw eyes searching the dark of the lake, the fires and the mist doing little to illuminate the distance between them and the lake’s centre.

But Lexa knew. She knew the children playing hockey deeper in the lake hadn’t passed her. She knew she hadn’t seen hockey sticks in the hands of the children passing her. And she knew. 

Lexa turned, and as she looked out behind her she thought she saw the shadowy figures of children lying on the ice, and she knew she could hear the cries for help as someone must have begun to slip through, as someone must have been separated from the others as the ice continued to crack and break and tear around them.

“I’ll be right back,” Lexa hissed as she pushed Clarke ahead of her, and she knew the blonde had also searched for the voice, for the child in distress. Their eyes met for a moment then, and Lexa saw the worry in Clarke’s eyes, she knew she saw the fear and the apprehension. 

“Ok,” and Clarke nodded once, she squeezed Lexa’s hand once and she smiled a little, worried thing. 

And so Lexa turned. She scanned the depth of the lake and she began to move. Her feet pushed her faster and faster, her eyes scanned the lake’s surface, her gaze took in each crack that seemed to spread and echo out around her. And she searched. She searched for the children that had been playing, she searched for the children that must have been stuck. 

Lexa called out then, she let the chill of the air fill her lungs and she let her voice carry over the lake. And she smiled. She smiled because she heard a reply, she smiled because she sensed their presence.

And she saw their bodies bleed out from the mist. 

Two children knelt before her on their hands and knees, their clothes soaked, their arms trembling, their faces fearful and panicked. But Lexa’s eyes snapped to the third. And she registered the fear and pain and desperation in the girl’s face, in the way she tried to grasp for the two hockey sticks the children held out for her. 

The girl lay on top of a sheet of ice that did little to keep her out of the water, that did little to keep her from sinking further and further into the depths, her hockey pads too heavy, too cumbersome for her to move, to swim, to kick out with her legs. 

Lexa called out then, and she saw one of the children look at her, his eyes wide as the ice underneath his body began to crack. But Lexa made it to them, she came to a stop and fell to her hands and knees as she began sliding over the dangerous ice.

“Hold on,” Lexa called out to the girl, and she saw the girl’s lips trembling, her skin already blueing to the cold. “Hold on,” Lexa echoed as she snatched a stick from one of the children as she lay on her stomach.

The water began to lap at her chest then, and she felt it freeze into her coat, she felt it stick to her and chill her body as she inched her way closer and closer to the edge of the broken ice.

“Here,” Lexa called out, and she stretched, she stretched with her arm as she held the stick out as far as she could, as she held it out further than either children could. “Take it,” Lexa gasped as she felt the cold sink down her top, and she thought she sensed the ice under her begin to dip, begin to sink just a little too much.

“I cant,” the girl gasped out, her legs trying to kick her further onto what little remained of the ice sheet. “I can’t,” and Lexa saw her eyes watering, she saw the girl’s tears streaking down her cheeks. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Lexa smiled to her past the cold. “Just reach out,” and Lexa leant forward a little, she stretched forward as much as she could, her own skates trying to find purchase amongst the cracks on the ice. “I’ve got you.”

The girl stared at her for a moment that seemed to last too long, but Lexa saw her resolve harden just a little, she saw the girl make a decision, make a choice, a plan to take a risk. 

“I’ve got you,” Lexa whispered to her. “You can do it.” 

The girl met Lexa’s gaze for a long moment, and Lexa smiled. She let her eyes shine in the dark of the night, she let her mind forget the cold, forget the bite of the ice and the sounds of the water cracking and he reached out as far as she could with the stick in her hand. 

“I’ve got you,” Lexa whispered just once more. 

And so the girl pushed off from the sheet of ice. Her legs kicked and splashed and her teeth chattered and her skin paled as the frozen water enveloped her fully as she made a desperate dash for the hockey stick Lexa held out for her. 

But Lexa saw the girl’s pads weigh her down, she saw the girl’s clothes hold too much water, the pockets of air in her pads filling, bubbling as water rushed into them.

And Lexa knew, she knew. She knew.

And so Lexa rushed forward, she took off from where she lay on the ice and she felt herself slam into the freezing water. 

Lexa gasped out in shock as the ice met her body, she gasped out in shock as her lungs froze and as her mind screamed out a warning. But she closed the distance between them, and Lexa smiled as her hand grasped the girl’s top, as her hand found purchase in the girl’s pads. And Lexa smiled past the cold as she pushed the girl towards the edge of the ice, she smiled as the two other children reached out and took hold, as they began crying out, screaming out as they pulled the girl higher and higher onto the ice.

But Lexa thought it too cold in this moment. She thought it too numbing, too chilled. But perhaps most of all she felt the coat she wore too heavy, too restrictive. The water crashed against her repeatedly, the girl’s legs kicking out wildly as she tried to push herself higher and higher onto the ice. 

And Lexa tried to kick out with her own feet, too, she tried to turn, to swim, to pull herself through the iced water. But she felt the pain, she felt the blow and the cut and the blood that exploded across her face as the girl’s foot collided with her cheek, as an edge of her skates sliced against her skin. 

And perhaps it was that moment that sealed her fate. Perhaps it was the impact, the moment where it stun Lexa, where it caused her eyes to explode with stars.

Or maybe it was moments before that, maybe it was the moment where she had decided, or maybe not really consciously decided, to leap forward, to brave the frozen water in her desperation to get to the young girl.

And maybe it was even before that. Maybe it was the moment when she had told Clarke that she’d be right back. Or maybe it was simply the fact that it was too warm this winter, it was too warm for so many people to be out on the ice. 

But regardless of which moment it was, regardless of which memory seemed to flitter past her eyes. That was all it took, all the distraction it needed. 

And so Lexa reeled back from the blow, her cheek burning in pain. She felt the water crash against her face though, she felt it stab into her flesh, and she felt the ice as it closed around her throat.

And it was cold, it was dark, and it took her a fraction of a too long second to realise she must be submerged in the water now, it took her too long to realise that as she tried to kick up, as she tried to reach the little sliver of light above her, that her coat was too heavy, the cotton holding too much water, clinging to her limbs too forcefully.

And Lexa cursed out, she was sure she screamed out in frustration, she was sure she felt anger in that moment. But as her lips parted, and as she thought she cursed, all she felt was the cold rush of water fill her mouth, fill her throat.

And she choked. 

Lexa choked, she gasped, she coughed, her nose burned, her eyes saw the red of her blood and she took a breath. She took a breath, she took in a lungful of air as she tried to fight her coat off, as she tried to wriggle her arms free.

And she took another breath. She took another breath if only because the first did little to fight the burn in her lungs, if only because it did little to ease the pain in her chest.

And she took another, she took another as she thought she felt her coat fall free, as she thought she felt her arms and her legs and her body freed from the weight. 

But even that third breath did little to ease the pain in her chest. 

And maybe she should have realised it sooner. Maybe she should have realised that humans don’t breathe underwater, that humans can’t breathe underwater.

And it was odd. It was odd to have the realisation that it took her three breaths of water, perhaps it was odd to realise that the first breath hadn’t registered, hadn’t been obvious. But she felt it now. She felt the water filling her lungs as her body took another desperate gulp despite her mind screaming out for it not to.

But she thought she saw movement above her, she thought she saw the shadowy silhouette of someone above her, of someone’s hands pressed against the surface of a window on a snowing night. And she saw a light then, she saw a shining beacon of gold that shimmered and dappled and did little to reach her through the ice and water that seemed to separate them.

Lexa felt her body convulse then, she felt her lungs burning, she felt her finger tips numbing and she felt her blood beginning to slow as it pumped through her veins. But she felt herself rising too. She felt her body beginning to float upwards.

And maybe she tried kicking, maybe she tried moving her arms. 

But she wasn’t so sure her limbs listened to her anymore. If only because she saw her hands floating before her face with little more than a twitch of a finger.

But it was frustrating. It was frustrating because she felt at ease, she felt at peace with the lack of oxygen, with the burning in her lungs and the cold that seemed to soothe her mind.

But it was frustrating because she felt her face bump against something too hard, too sharp. And it took her too long to realise she looked through a pane of ice, a sheet of cracked water that held her back from the pain she saw blurred before her.

And Lexa wasn’t so sure how long she looked, she wasn’t sure how long she stared. But she realised she recognised the woman who looked down at her. She thought she recognised the horror, the desperation, the fear and the hurt that etched itself across a face whose lips tore apart, whose voice came out broken and too quiet despite how close they appeared. 

But Lexa tried to reach out, she tried to let her hand meet the slamming fist before her, each blow of the bloodied hand doing little but echo out quietly around her. And Lexa tried to reach out, if only to ease the pain she thought she recognised in the person’s face. 

But Lexa found it too hard to concentrate anymore. She found it too hard to focus on doing little more than breathe. Or perhaps she wasn’t quite breathing anymore. If only because her vision began to fade, began to darken, began to bleed away.

But Lexa found herself wanting to tell the woman not to fear, not to be afraid, not to cry. And perhaps she found herself wanting to do those things because she thought the woman familiar. She thought the woman pretty and beautiful despite the blurred image she saw. But most of all, Lexa found herself wanting to tell the woman that it would be ok. 

If only because Lexa had always liked the cold. 

If only because Lexa had always thought it made her feel alive.

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s tears slipped down her cheek slowly. And she found herself hating what existed around her in this moment. And she thought it too quiet now, she thought it too silent after so long.

And maybe she tried listening to the whirring of the machine, maybe she tried listening to the quiet beep that echoed out around her.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t listen to it anymore. And she couldn’t because the doctors had taken them away, had removed what little aid Lexa had had to keep her breathing, to keep her living.

And Clarke hated it. 

She hated the fact that she could lie next to Lexa now. She hated the fact that she could rest her head against the same pillow that comforted Lexa. She hated the fact that without the machines she could finally feel Lexa’s cold warmth against her skin.

And Clarke hated it.

She hated that each breath Lexa took came out ragged. She hated how each one came out broken. She hated how each one came out with a pause that seemed too long, too uncertain.

But most of all?

Clarke hated not knowing whether each breath that seemed to only just slip through Lexa’s lips would be her last.


	11. Thirty-Two

“Good morning.”

The words came quietly, they came not so sure, not so certain. And Lexa was sure she frowned. She was sure she felt her eyebrows quirk, twitch, move. But perhaps they didn’t. And perhaps they didn’t because she felt cold, she felt a little less warm, a little less comfortable than she would like.

“Anya says hi.” 

The voice echoed out again. And this time it seemed to be just a little louder, just a little more firm to her. Or perhaps she had merely adjusted to its quietness, adjusted to its whisper. But perhaps Lexa wasn’t so sure.

“Raven, too.”

And again she heard the voice. But perhaps this time Lexa tried to think of who this Raven was. Perhaps this time she tried to recall who Anya was. For she was sure the names must have been known to her. She was sure they would have been. 

If only because whoever it was that lingered close by, that spoke out to the quiet that surrounded her, must have felt pain. And Lexa was sure pain was felt from the way the voice seemed to tremble with each breath.

“Raven apologises for not coming sooner.”

And Lexa was sure she recognised a wetness to the voice now. And perhaps she tried to remember what that would mean, what it would mean to hear a wet to the voice.

“Work was busy, But I said you wouldn’t mind.”

Who wouldn’t mind? And perhaps this time Lexa tried to tell the voice that its worry came wasted. If only because Lexa felt herself not so sure who wouldn’t mind Raven not coming sooner.

“Bruce misses you.”

A pause. A subtle one, but Lexa heard it.

“I miss you, too.”

But perhaps Lexa frowned, perhaps she bit on her tongue, shook her head as she tried to tell the voice that the words that were spoken were a waste.

“There’s still time.” 

And Lexa heard the voice fray once more. She heard it crack.

“Please wake up.”

Lexa sighed then. And she was sure that the voice spoke to another now, she was sure she merely intruded in another’s pain. If only because she wasn’t asleep. 

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa felt time move oddly for her. She felt it linger around her some days and she felt it shift and bend and slip through her fingers. And maybe she wasn’t so sure how long she stayed in that little space between the emptiness of sleep and the vibrance that she thought she could only just recall. 

And it was odd, too. It was odd because she seemed to sense others come and go as they please, each with little worry for the too loud softness of their steps, to the too loud echoing of whispered words that she was able to listen to, that she was able to snatch every so often.

But perhaps she didn’t mind. And Lexa knew she didn’t mind the interruptions to her sleep. If only because she felt it too easy to slip back into its embrace. 

But she heard it again. She heard that same voice, she heard that same frayed timbre, that same cracking breath on each exhale. And perhaps she felt a little sorry for whoever it was. And perhaps she felt a little guilty that she didn’t say something, didn’t tell that voice not to waste its breath on her.

“I dropped Bruce off at Anya’s.”

And Lexa remembered the names. She remembered a Bruce, an Anya. And she tried to recall who they could have been, who they must have been. And she worried her lip, she quirked her eyebrows and she grunted out a frustration as the recognition seemed to slip through numbed fingers.

“I think he thought you were going to be there.”

Who? Lexa knew she felt just a slight tinge of frustration that she couldn’t quite discern who Bruce was. 

“I think he smelt you on me.”

 _Oh_. 

And that gave Lexa pause, that gave her a moment’s hesitation as she tried to consider what those words had meant. And she thought. She thought that perhaps Bruce was an animal. If only because she was sure people wouldn’t quite smell another person on others. Maybe.

“I almost snapped at one of the nurses today. I got angry and.”

_And?_

And Lexa wanted to snap at the voice, to tell it to continue, to finish its thought. But why? She thought for a moment, she let it sift through her mind, but she wasn’t so sure why she felt invested, why she wished to hear, to learn the more of the voice’s trials. But perhaps she merely wished to know what happened next because the voice seemed sincere. 

And surely if the voiced wished to waste time talking to her, then Lexa was polite enough to listen. If only because she thought herself polite.

“And I apologised.”

_Finally._

Lexa sighed. She sighed, but she felt a frown furrow her brows as she thought over what the voice had said. And perhaps she realised it made no sense. Perhaps, as she shifted through the words, she thought them not so deserving of an apology. If only because the voice had said almost, had said that they hadn’t quite been rude, been impolite.

“I don’t think I even started yelling at her. But I said sorry for whatever I was about to do.”

And perhaps Lexa could admire the voice’s manners, the voice’s awareness of others. 

“She didn’t mind. But I tried to be polite.” 

And Lexa smiled then, she smiled because she thought the voice kind. If only because it had made an effort to be polite, and had been aware enough to know to try to be polite. 

“I don’t know who I am anymore, Lex.”

_Lex?_

And perhaps this time Lexa felt a little unease, a little confusion at who the person spoke to, at who must have been lying near enough to her that she could so impolitely listen and intrude in this person’s pain.

“I don’t know what to feel, I do’t know what to think, I don’t know what to do.” 

And Lexa was sure she heard the quiver and the pain in the person’s voice. And perhaps she felt indignation now, perhaps she felt frustration. But not at the voice. And she knew it must have been directed at whoever the voice spoke to. If only because she thought it rude, she thought it impolite to so blindingly ignore the pain Lexa knew she heard.

“I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know how to think.”

And the words seemed to etch themselves into Lexa’s mind once more. But Lexa waited, and she let the pause linger, she let it stretch until she sensed the voice want to say something more, to say something less painful. 

“I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s wasn’t so sure how long she spent trying to find sleep, how long she spent trying to find something a little less dull. But she was sure from the way her lungs seemed to fill, she was sure from the way she felt the scratch at the back of her throat, that it must have been an age. And she was sure it was an age from the way her mouth seemed to dry out.

But she heard the lock click on what she thought must have been  a door, she was sure she heard it swinging open carefully. 

Lexa heard the choked sound again, and she recognised the voice it belonged to. She recognised the way it seemed to be a constant presence whenever the voice came to visit.

“Hey.”

And Lexa sighed just a little as she felt the voice close the distance, and yet she found herself just a little annoyed that the voice seemed to not be answered, seemed to be ignored. And she knew it frustrated her to know that whoever it spoke to was so cruel as to let the pain continue to fester.

“I spoke to Anya today.”

And perhaps Lexa found herself trying to imagine what this Anya looked like, whether she laughed freely, whether she smiled, whether she growled out her words or bit back laughs at times more serious.

“She still worries about me.”

And perhaps Lexa thought this Anya person at least a little caring.

“Gustus visited yesterday. He’ll be here tonight.”

And perhaps that intrigued Lexa. If only because she thought a person named Gustus must have been grand, must have been a character, someone steeped in mystery. Or perhaps a gentle giant, a quiet presence that may knock some sense into whoever ignored this voice.

“Bruce behaved though. He didn’t jump up on Gustus until he was sure I wasn’t looking, so maybe it wasn’t really behaving.”

And Lexa smiled a little as she tried to imagine what this animal looked like, and she tried to imagine a cat, a dog, or perhaps even a rabbit. 

“But at least he waited until he knew he could get away with it.”

And perhaps Lexa felt herself smile as she imagined a smart animal, a stubborn animal. A caring animal. And as she considered what she knew, what she had learnt, she thought Bruce a dog. 

“I think Bruce understands now. I think he’s figured out you aren’t coming home.”

And that gave Lexa pause. It caused her to snap her attention back to the voice, and perhaps now she felt even more anger, even more frustration that the voice was ignored.

“I thought it’d be easier, I thought It’d get easier after all this time.”

And Lexa couldn’t help but feel a little saddened at the defeat she heard in the voice.

“But it still hurts, Lex. Every time I call, every time I make arrangements I feel like I’m letting you down, I feel like I’m cheating on us. On everything we’ve been through.”

And Lexa felt that the voice was too hard on itself, she thought the voice too selfless in its blame. For surely part of the blame must have been placed on who the voice spoke to. 

“You aren’t gone yet, but they tell me to prepare, to make sure that it doesn’t catch me by surprise.”

And Lexa heard the quiver in the voice once more. 

“Everyone seems to know, too. I think Anya warned them so that it didn’t come as a surprise.”

And perhaps Lexa thought this Anya was stubborn, was set in her ways. But perhaps she thought her kind. Just a little, from the things she had heard.

“I thought I’d be angry, I thought I’d be furious at her for telling them before I had a chance to do it myself.”

And who could blame the voice for feeling anger? Lexa was sure she would have felt the same.

“But I think Anya knew I wouldn’t have been able to, I think she knew I couldn’t. And I think she knew I would have made a scene, wouldn’t have been able to say it right.”

And perhaps that made a little sense to Lexa.

“I was selfish. I was selfish. I am selfish. And I forget that I’m not the only one hurting.”

And perhaps that made sense, too.

“I think Anya needed to do it though, and I’m happy she did. I would have ruined it. I think it was her own way of saying goodbye.”

And Lexa knew she felt her annoyance flare up once more as the voice continued to go unnoticed, continued to go unanswered.

“But I’m not giving up.”

And that gave Lexa pause. It made her consider what the voice said, what it meant. And perhaps she felt a little pride at the conviction she knew she heard then. 

“Not yet. I won’t give up, not until the end.” 

And Lexa could respect the sentiment. Even if she thought it lost on someone not so caring. For surely they must have been not so caring to continue to ignore, to continue to leave the hurt untended. 

“I won’t give you up.”

And perhaps for the very first time Lexa thought she felt just the slightest of pressures against her skin, against her flesh. And perhaps for the very first time in a long while she registered that she couldn’t quite remember what it felt like to move.

“There’s still time.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa tried thinking of something a little less dull than whatever that sound was that seemed to fill her ears. And as she tried not to listen to the way it seemed to whir through her mind, the way it seemed to linger all around her, she was sure it caused her thoughts to scream out in frustration at its constant, unending presence.

“Clarke.” 

And perhaps this time Lexa let herself fully listen to this voice. If only because she wasn’t sure who Clarke was, she wasn’t sure who spoke, who seemed to be close.

“Hi.”

And Lexa felt herself smile at the recognition of that voice once more.

“When did you get here?”

And perhaps Lexa couldn’t help but feel just a little victory at having gained an insight, gained a little more knowledge about the unanswered voice. 

 _Clarke_.

And Lexa cursed quietly as she repeated the name, as it rolled off her tongue. If only because she didn’t wish for Clarke to know that she was listened to, that she was intruded upon. But Lexa sighed. She sighed because she was sure she wasn’t heard. If only because the voices seemed to continue in their conversation.

“—what you’re thinking.”

And Lexa cursed as she heard Clarke’s voice trail off, and she felt a bubble of annoyance as she realised she had missed part of the conversation, that she had missed part of whatever life Clarke must have been living.

“What am I thinking?”

And as Lexa listened to the voice she thought it sounded older, sounded more lived. 

“That I look liked shit.”

And Lexa scoffed. And she was sure Clarke would have looked fine, would have looked nice. If only because someone who must be so caring, so selfless as to continue to visit a person who would ignore them would always look fine.

“You do.”

And Lexa knew she snarled a little at the other voice’s answer.

“Can you blame me?” 

 _No_.

Lexa was sure no one would blame Clarke, could blame Clarke for looking however dishevelled she apparently looked. If only because Lexa thought Clarke had spent hours, days, lifetimes waiting for a response that never seemed to come.

“No.” 

And Lexa sighed.

“I’m ok.” 

And Lexa smiled a little as Clarke seemed to ease into the conversation.

“Are you?”

And perhaps Lexa felt just a little relief that the other voice seemed to care for Clarke, seemed to worry for her as much as Lexa found herself caring, as much as Lexa found herself worrying. 

“As much as I can be.” 

Lexa knew she felt that Clarke was too hard on herself.

“It’s getting colder.”

And Lexa couldn’t blame the other voice for changing topics. And it was smart, she thought, it was smart to try to ease Clarke’s suffering. 

“It is.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa felt content to just float through moments as they came and went. And she couldn’t help but wonder a little about things she couldn’t quite grasp, couldn’t quite understand. And perhaps if she tried to think of an answer it’d be easier. But she thought it even difficult to try to think of the question to ask, to voice, to give thought to. 

“I hate you.”

And the voice cut into her mind with a frenzy, with a chill that seemed to bring breath to her lungs.

“I hate you.”

And Lexa heard the conviction in Clarke’s voice, she heard the anger, the resentment, the hurt. And she couldn’t blame Clarke for saying this to the person who she spoke to. If only because Lexa had been rude, had been impolite and had listened to each conversation Clarke had had only to be ignored.

“I hate that you made me promise. I hate that you made me agree.”

Clarke’s voice came out a little more broken now, a little more frayed than Lexa had heard in quite some time.

“Why? Why did I have to love you, Lex?”

And Lexa couldn’t quite find an answer to that question herself. But she knew that love had never been simple, had never been easy. But perhaps she felt a little sorry that Clarke had loved such a rude person.

“Maybe if you said something, maybe if you made me angry before you left then I wouldn’t feel guilty about not listening, about not keeping my promise.”

And that gave Lexa pause, it made her think that Clarke must be selfless, must be strong to be willing to throw away what little happiness she had tried to hold onto for someone so uncaring of her suffering.

“If I didn’t love you so much maybe it would be easier. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. But I do and it hurts more each day. It hurts to wake up, it hurts to fall asleep only to dream of you. It hurts to wake up to you here. It hurts to not feel you against me, it hurts not to know how your day went.”

_You should say something._

And Lexa couldn’t help but gasp out in shock as the worlds slipped past her lips before she had even really registered them. But after all this time she knew she felt anger at _Lex,_ at how they had ignored Clarke’s every broken plea. 

“Please.”

And Lexa let out a sigh of relief as Clarke continued, as she seemed to ignore Lexa’s rudeness. 

“Please just give me a sign.”

And Lexa felt the pain in her own mind as she heard Clarke’s desperation.

“Tell me that you’re still there, that you can hear me.”

And Lexa was sure Clarke was heard by the other. If only because she found it hard to ignore the beauty in Clarke’s voice.

“Do something, do anything.”

And Lexa tried to wipe away the tear she felt begin to form.

“Please, Lexa.”

But she stopped before her finger even started to lift.

Her blood curdled and her thoughts froze as Clarke’s words began to sink in, as Clarke’s voice filled her mind. And she tried to turn back the seconds, the minutes, the days. She tried to grasp onto what Clarke had just said. 

But she didn’t think it made sense. She didn’t think it true.

“You still have time.”

_Clarke?_

And Lexa called out to her, to ask her something. Anything.

“Please.”  

 

* * *

 

Lexa wasn’t sure how long she turned back the conversations she had heard, how long she had relived each one. But she knew it made no sense, she knew it a lie. If only because she had heard, she had responded, she had lived every conversation Clarke had had. And she knew she hadn’t ignored her, she knew she hadn’t been so rude as to remain silent, as to ignore the pain so clear for her to sense.

But Lexa found herself lost. She found herself unsure now. She found herself uncertain of what it was that existed around her, what seemed to bleed through her mind, that seemed to whir through her head.

“There’s no more time, Lexa.”

_Clarke?_

And Lexa tried to ask, tried to voice her uncertainty. 

“I’m sorry.”

But Lexa knew not what Clarke was sorry for, she knew not what she apologised for.

“If you’re going to do something it has to be now.”

_I’m here._

“I love you.”

_Clarke?_

“You’re thirty-two today, Lexa.”

_Clarke?_

And perhaps Lexa wasn’t so sure why Clarke ignored her. 

But perhaps she thought it punishment. If only because she thought that just maybe, she had been the one to ignore Clarke all those times.

“Happy birthday.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa was aware that something was changing. And as she snapped her mind back to the sounds around her she knew she heard things begin to change. And she knew she heard voices, new voices, familiar voices. And she knew she heard pain in some, anger and frustration in others. And she was sure she heard acceptance and devastation. 

Perhaps the first thing she was really aware of that changed was the quieting of the room, though. And it didn’t quite register in her mind until it ended that a beep had ceased to exist, that a constant rhythm had ended. And Lexa thought that in its place existed nothing but hopelessness. 

Or maybe Lexa was simply too colourful, too imaginative in her thoughts.

Perhaps the next thing Lexa really registered was a strange scraping in the back of her throat. And she wasn’t so sure what it was. She wasn’t so sure what it could be. But she knew it uncomfortable, she knew it unpleasant.

_Stop._

She let her voice fill the room. She let her voice tell those around her not to do whatever it was that they had done.

But she found herself ignored once more.

And maybe she thought this punishment for all the times she had ignored Clarke.

The third thing Lexa realised was that her arms didn’t quite move as she tried to reach up to her throat, to her mouth as she tried to stop the removal of whatever it was that scratched and bruised. And she was sure her arms must have been restrained, must have been tied down. For surely that was the only thing, the only reason why she couldn’t quite move.

Lexa felt a burn in her nose then. And it stung, it bruised behind her eyes and made her jaw clench painfully.

And the next realisation Lexa had was that the whirring had ceased. And it took her a moment to realise what it sounded like not to have that constant droning in her mind. And she found she liked it more. She found she enjoyed the quiet. 

And it was quiet. 

Lexa didn’t quite realise how long it was until she registered that the room had fallen still, had fallen empty. 

And Lexa didn’t quite realise until her lungs began to burn that she needed to breathe, that she needed to take a breath.

And so she did.

She did.

And it scared her. 

She wasn’t so sure why, she wasn’t so sure how. But as Lexa felt her lungs expand, she was sure the motion felt unnatural, felt unlearnt, unfamiliar to her. 

she breathed out what little air she had taken in and the sound that met her seemed unkind, seemed unfair. 

And Lexa was sure her breath came out broken, she was sure it came out ragged.

But that wasn’t quite what seemed unkind and unfair to her.

And Lexa heard the quiet sobbing besides her. And it took her a moment to register that a weight existed by her side.

Perhaps Lexa had heard the way the breath would break at its ends, the way the voice would hitch a little in its husk as it took in another breath.

And Lexa recognised Clarke.

_It’s ok._

And it was. Lexa thought it would be ok. She thought Clarke would be ok in whatever pain she seemed to be facing. And Lexa thought Clarke deserving of so much more than just existing through the pain, through the hu—

Breathe _._

Lexa cursed herself as she realised she had forgotten to take a breath, she cursed herself as she realised her lungs were screaming out.

And so she did. 

And she was sure it came out ragged once more. She was sure it came out awkwardly. And as she thought her lungs began to fill a little more than half way she choked, she spluttered on the unfamiliarity of the motion.

And she froze.

She froze as she felt a pressure on her cheek. She froze as she felt it linger, and she froze as she felt a wetness cling to her face. And she froze because she was sure Clarke had kissed her.

_Clarke?_

And Lexa waited for a response, she waited for Clarke to say something. To do something.

But nothing came, and so she breathed once more. And perhaps this time it came just a little more sure. But perhaps not by the way she coughed and wheezed and spluttered.

_Don’t be afraid, Clarke._

Lexa took in another breath, and she was sure she felt the barest hints of a tickle run down her cheek.

And Lexa realised she had forgotten to exhale, she realised that her lungs protested their expansion, their filling. 

But above all?

Lexa found it frustrating. She found it annoying. She found it rude. For surely whoever had made it harder for her to breathe could make it easier once more.

_Can you get them to fix my breathing?_

And it couldn’t hurt to ask Clarke.

_Clarke?_

And Lexa felt herself begin to feel angry that Clarke continued to igno—

Breathe _._

Lexa didn’t quite like the way her body seemed to not listen, to not behave.

_Can you stop ignoring me, please?_

Perhaps Lexa could try to be polite, perhaps she could try to make amends for the times she thought she had ignored Clarke.

_Clarke?_

Lexa waited, she waited as she heard Clarke sniffle a little, as she heard Clarke shift a little.

_I’m sorry._

And Lexa was. She was sorry that she had ignored Clarke. She was sorry she hadn’t done more to ease her pain.

_I’m sorry, Clarke._

Breathe _._

Lexa winced a little as her lungs didn’t quite take in as much air as she wanted.

_I’m sorry I ignored you, Clarke._

And Lexa was.

_I’m sorry for whatever I did._

And she was. 

_I’m sorry you’re hurting so much, Clarke._

And perhaps Lexa was surprised to find that in this moment she wanted Clarke to know and to understand the words she said. And Lexa wasn’t so sure why she felt that they were important. But she knew they were. She knew they must be. 

But above all?

Perhaps she felt regret that Clarke seemed to ignore her. 

And so Lexa was surprised when she felt the tear that slipped down her cheek.

_I’m sorry,_

“Clarke.”


	12. Thirty-Two

 

“Clarke.”

It took a moment for her to register the voice that seemed to linger in the air. Clarke blinked then, and she was sure she felt the tears slip down her cheeks as she buried her face a little deeper into the crook of Lexa’s neck as she tried to hold onto the sound of the voice.

“Clarke.”

She grimaced then, and she was sure the voice seemed close, seemed near and present. 

“Clar—”

The voice choked a little, it paused and Clarke’s eyes snapped open.

It took her less than a second to sit up from where she lay besides Lexa, and Clarke was sure her eyes moved frantically around her for just a moment before snapping to Lexa’s face.

“Clarke.”

And Clarke stared. She stared as she saw Lexa’s eyes blink slowly, as she saw the light reflect against them, as she saw them try to focus and squint through the dark of the room.

“Lexa?” 

And in that moment Clarke couldn’t quite understand what emotion seemed to exist in her mind. She wasn’t sure if it was denial, she wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating, if she was imagining, or if she had somehow died, if she had someone lost the will to live.

“Lexa?” and Clarke blinked once more, and she was sure her lip began to tremble, she was sure her lips parted. “Lexa?” 

And perhaps the horror and disbelief must have been spreading across her face because she saw Lexa recoil just a little as she tried to reach out, as she tried to touch any part of Lexa she could. “Lexa?” and Clarke shook her head as she tried to let the truth of what her eyes saw sink in, as she tried to accept what her saw.

“Are you Clarke?”

 

* * *

 

“It’s not uncommon for people to have some significant memory loss,” he said as he continued to gesture to the model of the brain. “With the significant lack of oxygen she experienced prior to being resuscitated, it’s to be expected,” he finished with a little wan smile, his eyes careful as he continued to gaze upon her.

“Will she remember?” 

“It can take a number of months, two, three, sometimes more, for memories to really come back,” and he shifted a little in his chair as he took the model of the brain from her hands. “There’s also the chance that she will hallucinate, that she’ll begin to think something is there that isn’t.”

“Will she be ok?” Clarke asked as she looked up to see him smile a little.

“Given time,” and he paused for a moment. “It’s never easy,” and she saw his eyes turn a just a little careful, a little understanding. “But for now you don’t need to worry. We won’t release her from hospital for a little while yet, not until the end of the week at the earliest.”

“Thank you,” and Clarke wasn’t so sure what else to say in that moment.

“She’s a fighter, Clarke,” and she looked to him to see him smile more freely. “She’s strong. Physically she’ll make a full recovery given time.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Clarke said though, and perhaps she couldn’t help but think of futures more bleak than her recent experiences may suggest. Clarke met his gaze again, and perhaps it didn’t surprise her that she couldn’t quite hold it for too long. 

“It won’t be easy,” he said simply. And perhaps Clarke appreciated his bluntness. 

“No,” and Clarke worried her lip. But perhaps she didn’t care how hard it might be. “It won’t be.”

 

* * *

 

“Clarke,” and she blinked back the sleep, and she couldn’t help but feel the stiffness in her neck as she raised her head to look to Lexa.

Clarke saw Lexa looking at her carefully, the woman’s gaze moving between her eyes and taking in the way her hair must have been hanging messily across her shoulders.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Lexa added quietly as she looked away from where she sat propped up by pillows.

“You didn’t wake me,” Clarke lied.

Lexa took her in then, and Clarke was sure Lexa knew she had lied, she was sure Lexa saw straight through her.

“They to—” and Lexa coughed past the roughness of her throat.

“Hey,” and Clarke rose quickly, her feet took her to Lexa’s side and she pushed a glass to her lips.

“Thank you,” Lexa choked out a little as she reached up with a too thin hand, her fingers too slender as they grasped the glass as she helped tip it back a little.

Clarke paused then, her eyes careful as she took in the way Lexa seemed to think over the words she had been about to say. And Clarke stayed for just a moment longer, for long enough that she knew Lexa’s hand remained steady in its slight tremble as she held the glass to her chest carefully.

“They told me I lost memories,” Lexa said simply, and Clarke knew Lexa didn’t quite meet her gaze, didn’t quite feel brave enough to share in their closeness. 

“It’s ok,” Clarke said, and perhaps she wasn’t so sure what else to say.

And so Clarke took her spot in the chair, the distance between them too obvious for her to ignore, too obvious for her to face. And it hurt, she knew that much. Clarke knew it hurt to think of whatever distance existed between them, and she knew it hurt to think of it never closing, never filling. But perhaps she had hope, perhaps she had determination to fight for it. 

Clarke looked back to Lexa to see her watching carefully, her eyes guarded as they must have been taking in whatever state Clarke thought she must have looked.

And perhaps Clarke thought Lexa trying to think of something to voice, or perhaps Clarke thought Lexa trying to find the right question to ask.

And so Clarke smiled quietly as their eyes met, and she tried to keep it simple, she tried to keep the hurt from her face. But she thought Lexa saw, she thought Lexa sensed it from the way the other woman’s eyes glanced away a little too quickly.

“I’m sorry,” and Clarke didn’t quite know what to say as she heard Lexa’s voice carry out.

“It’s ok,” Clarke said simply, and she felt her lip quirk.

“It’s not,” Lexa shrugged, and perhaps Clarke could be forgiven for flinching a little as Lexa’s too thin shoulder rose from the hospital gown.

“Ok,” and Clarke wasn’t so sure how to respond to that either.

But she sensed Lexa’s want to continue, to say more.

“How old are you?” Lexa asked cautiously, and Clarke thought she sensed Lexa’s uncertainty, she thought she sensed her unease.

“Thirty-two,” Clarke said, and she felt content that her voice didn’t shake, didn’t break.

“I’m thirty-two, aren’t I?” and Clarke saw Lexa worry her lip, she saw her brows furrow.

“Yes,” and Clarke blinked a few times.

“I—” Lexa looked away though, and Clarke saw her try to sift through whatever thoughts seemed to linger, seemed to flit through her mind. “It’s weird,” Lexa continued after a moment, her gaze returning to Clarke’s cautiously. “I have memories,” and Clarke winced just a bit as she felt her nails bite into her palm. “But I can’t place them,” and Lexa looked away again. “I have faces in my mind, I have names, places, moments and events that all seem to be jumbled, to be out of order.”

And Clarke wasn’t so sure what to do now, she wasn’t so sure she could do anything. 

“The doctors said it could take time,” Clarke offered, but perhaps she should have said something different from the way Lexa’s eyes rolled just a little.

“It’s like a puzzle piece,” Lexa continued as she began to look around her slowly. “It’s like it’s all been put together wrong, like every piece doesn’t match up with the one next to it, but for some reason they seem to be fitting,” and Lexa snorted slightly. “I don’t know which memories came first, which ones came next. I don’t know which ones are happy, which ones are sad,” and she met Clarke’s gaze again. 

But perhaps Clarke didn’t know what else to say, and she knew she didn’t know what she could say.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa continued though. 

“For what?” Clarke asked quietly.

“Me,” and Lexa shrugged as she lifted her left hand, the golden band around her finger shining. “I know we’re married, I’ve figured that out,” and Clarke looked away as her eyes began to water. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” and Clarke thought Lexa couldn’t do much to break her. Not now, not after all she had been through.

“No it isn’t,” and Clarke looked up to see a shadow curving against Lexa’s cheek as the woman tried to shift a little against the pillows propping her up. 

And as Lexa scowled as her arm shook in its support of her weight, Clarke couldn’t help but understand and see the frustration that had begun to bubble up in Lexa’s mind.

“Hey,” and Clarke stood again, and she approached carefully, her hand slow in its approach, and she waited until Lexa met her eyes, before the woman nodded, and then Clarke let her hand close around Lexa’s arm as she helped Lexa sit more comfortably.

“Thank you,” Lexa said after she had settled, after Clarke found herself back in the chair.

“It’s ok,” and Clarke tried to smile a little.

But she met Lexa’s gaze then, and she saw Lexa’s eyes move carefully over her face, she saw Lexa trying to think of whatever question had been constantly returning to the forefront of her mind, whichever question had been plaguing her thoughts.

“You can ask,” Clarke offered.

And she saw Lexa bite her lip, she saw Lexa look away at the realisation that she could be read so easily, and perhaps Clarke saw a sadness wash over her as Lexa realised what Clarke’s recognition must have meant.

“How did we meet?” and Lexa’s gaze turned steady as she met Clarke’s, but perhaps Clarke couldn’t help but feel the tremble in her lip, and she knew she bit it slightly as she tried to fight down the pain that she knew would return if she let it.

“We were kids,” Clarke said, and she knew her voice frayed just a little.

“Oh,” and she saw Lexa look away, she saw Lexa curse herself, close her eyes for a long moment.

But perhaps talking would help, perhaps saying more could help. And after all the time that Clarke had spent talking to Lexa in her sleep, she was sure it couldn’t hurt. 

“We were skating,” Clarke continued.

“Ice?” and Clarke saw Lexa flinch a little, she saw an uncertainty, a subconscious shrinking from the thought.

“Yeah,” and Clarke pondered whether to continue, whether to let the topic stay the course.

“Tell me,” and she saw Lexa’s eyes hardening, she saw Lexa’s eyes turn pleading, and perhaps just a little desperate, a little wanting.

“You were always better at skating than me,” Clarke continued, and she saw Lexa look away again. “We were seven,” and Clarke worried her lip, she waited until Lexa met her gaze. “I was still holding onto the boards, but you could skate, you wanted to be on the team.”

“Hockey?” 

“Yeah,” and Clarke saw Lexa nod to herself. “I thought you were showing off, but you said it wasn’t showing off if you actually could skate.”

“Sorry,” Lexa whispered as she looked down into her lap, her hands a little thin as she worried her thumbs together.

“It’s ok,” and Clarke shrugged.

She saw Lexa bite her lip though, she saw Lexa’s eyes move across her face and she was sure Lexa tried to sort through what memories she had, what recollections were jumbled within her head. But Clarke saw Lexa frown, she saw Lexa sigh a little before looking away.

“Do you want me to give you some time?” Clarke asked, but perhaps she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know Lexa’s answer.

“No,” and Lexa met her gaze once more. “You can stay,” and Clarke watched as Lexa tried to smile. But once again Clarke saw Lexa think over something for only a moment before nodding to herself, before steadying her breath. “Tell me more.”

 

* * *

 

It was an odd thing to see Lexa walking before her. But Clarke thought it a relief too. And she thought it a relief that all the time spent in the hospital had come to an end. If only because she had grown to hate the hospital, she had grown to hate what it had represented. But she had also grown to love it, too. If only because it had kept Lexa from slipping too far away.

And so Clarke sighed, she watched carefully and she felt herself trying to reach out, trying to take a hold of Lexa’s elbow, of her arm with each passing step. But Clarke thought Lexa stubborn in her want to cross the distance to the door, to make it to the threshold with little help. But perhaps Clarke could worry her lip, perhaps she could stay just close enough to catch the other woman if she needed it.

And so Clarke swiped away at a strand of hair as she continued to tread behind Lexa. 

“Bruce,” Clarke began though, and she thought she heard the telltale sounds of his feet padding against the floor. 

“Bruce?” and Lexa worried her lip as she turned back to Clarke, walking frame held in thin hands as she paused. 

“I forgot to tell you about Bruce,” and Clarke smiled as she heard the bark. “Our dog.”

“Oh,” and Lexa thought. “I think I remember,” she said simply, her eyes turning back to a window.

And perhaps Clarke felt just a little hope begin to burn more brightly in her mind at Lexa’s words. And perhaps she had hoped memories would return more quickly, more firmly. But she didn’t quite mind the uncertainty in Lexa’s statements, in Lexa’s recollections. If only because she had begun to remember something, anything. And for now? Clarke could be happy with whatever she could take.

And so Clarke worried her lip a little as Lexa slowed as she approached the door, and perhaps now, as Clarke stood besides her, and as Bruce’s barking echoed out from behind the door, Clarke wasn’t so sure she had thought things through, she wasn’t so sure she had registered what Bruce might do when the door opens.

“Let me get in first,” Clarke began as she met Lexa’s gaze. “I don’t want Bruce jumping up on you.”

“He has a habit of doing that?” Lexa asked, and Clarke thought she saw her think, try to turn back memories, try to sift through thoughts.

“Yeah,” and Clarke worried her lip once more. “He does,” and Clarke thought she saw Lexa’s lip twitch up slightly. “Just give me a moment,” she finished as she turned back to the door.

And so Clarke felt the slight trembling her in fingers as her key scraped against the lock, and she heard Bruce redouble his excitement as the door unlocked. But Clarke stuck her leg into the crack quickly, and she couldn’t help but laugh just a little as she felt Bruce run into her knee immediately in his haste to get to Lexa.

She smiled apologetically over her shoulder to Lexa before slipping inside and closing the door. And Clarke couldn’t help but laugh just a little as Bruce turned to glare at her, his tail moving back and forth heavily as it slapped against the doorframe.

“I know,” Clarke said to him as she knelt, her hand scratching his head. “You have to be gentle, though,” and Clarke felt him huff. “You have to be careful,” she repeated as she took his face in her hands. “Or am I going to have to get the leash?” and she saw Bruce frown a little before his head tilted to the side. “Careful,” she repeated as she stood, her hand pushing Bruce back slightly.

And so Clarke tried to steady her breathing as she reached out for the door handle, but perhaps she felt herself begin to feel the thrill, begin to feel the thrumming in her mind as she saw Lexa’s eyes snap to Bruce, as she saw Lexa begin to smile a little, and as she saw Lexa take a few steps forward.

“Hi Bruce,” Lexa whispered, and perhaps Clarke could be forgiven for feeling her eyes water just a bit as Bruce shuffled forward carefully, his paw reaching out for Lexa’s knee as his tail continued to slap against the doorframe with a low thud.

And perhaps Clarke thought things might be not so bad, not so desperate and painful. If only because she watched as Lexa knelt down weakly, as she sat just inside the front door, and as Bruce whimpered and shuffled onto Lexa’s lap, his snout happy to brush against her as his tail continued to dance from the excitement of their reunion.

 

* * *

 

“This is our room,” Clarke said, and perhaps in this moment she felt a little like the teen she had once been. If only because Lexa looked around carefully, her eyebrows quirking together as she tried to piece together whatever it was that settled in her mind.

“It’s nice,” and Clarke thought she sensed a bashfulness in Lexa’s words, in the way her voice seemed to trail off just a little at the ends. 

And it was a nice room. It always had been. And perhaps it was because Lexa seemed to always keep candles close by. If only because there had always been a splash of red, had always been a flittering of blue throughout the room. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Clarke continued after a moment. 

“N—” 

“It’s ok,” and Clarke knew Lexa would protest. If only because she had always been polite. “I know this is a lot for you to take in,” and Clarke worried her lip a little. 

“This is as much your room as it was mine,” Lexa said though, and Clarke knew she sensed a little uncertainty in Lexa’s voice.

“It’s still your room,” Clarke said. “It’s not a problem though,” and she shrugged. 

And so Lexa made sure their eyes met, and perhaps in that moment Clarke felt as though Lexa searched for something, searched for a way to reorganise the scattering of her mind into something more concrete, more tangible, less broken.

But perhaps she failed. If only because she sighed a little, she looked away for just a moment, and then she met Clarke’s gaze once more.

“Ok.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s thoughts drifted for a long moment in her sleep. And she wasn’t so sure whether she fully slept, or whether she merely drifted on that border between sleep and wakefulness. But perhaps she didn’t quite mind it. And perhaps she didn’t because she could imagine life had played out differently, she could imagine that things weren’t so hard, so unfair. 

And maybe she could imagine that the year of desperation had never existed. And maybe she could imagine the way she felt now, the way her heart didn’t quite settle, the way her thoughts didn’t quite accept what had happened and had never taken hold.

But she knew things not so fair. 

And so Clarke sighed forcefully, she rolled over on the couch and the pulled the blanket a little more snuggly around her.

And it hadn’t been easy. It hadn’t been fair. Not the days after Lexa had woken. Not the weeks after she had regained consciousness. But perhaps after almost two months, Clarke had hoped things would have changed for the better.

But above all? 

Clarke thought she would endure it again, she thought she would stay vigil forever. And she knew she would. 

And so she tried to find a little more comfort on the couch, she tried to let her body slip into its usual ease on the couch and she tried to let her mind fall back to sleep as the moon continued to do whatever it wished through the night’s sky.

And perhaps Clarke almost made it. Perhaps she almost let herself fall back into a slumber. And perhaps she almost let the cold take her away for another night.

But her eyes snapped open to the sounds of a light being turned on, to the sounds of restlessness and wakefulness that drifted through the walls.

And it hadn’t been unusual, and it wasn’t unusual for Lexa to wake in the night, to find it challenging to find sleep when her mind played tricks on her, when her thoughts told her things weren’t so real.

And Clarke had learnt to give her space, to give her time, to give her a moment to settle her thoughts, to settle her demons.

But perhaps this time it felt different, perhaps this time it seemed different. 

And so Clarke pulled the blanket from her and she gasped out a little at the cold that greeted her body as she sat, her eyes squinting in the dark. Clarke paused for a moment though, she paused and she thought of ignoring that burn in the back of her mind. But her eyes fell to the slight glow that seeped into the living room from behind the bedroom door. And Clarke could picture exactly which light would be on, she could imagine the way the light bounced off the walls, and she could imagine the way it would cast a low shadow over the ceiling. 

Clarke waited then. She waited for Lexa’s dream to pass, for Lexa’s worry and thoughts to settle. Clarke looked to the clock on the far wall, and she counted the minutes, she looked on as time ticked by, and she found herself biting her lip, she found herself worrying as the light in the bedroom didn’t turn off when expected. 

And so Clarke rose, she let her feet meet the cold of the floor and she felt her way through the living room as what little light glowed gave her direction. 

She found herself before the bedroom door then, and she was sure Lexa must have been aware that she stood there, she was sure Lexa would have heard her feet approaching, must have heard the uncertainty in her steps. 

But she knocked anyway, she let her knuckles tap against the door and she waited.

“Come in,” and perhaps Clarke couldn’t help but feel a little hurt at having to knock, at having to ask for permission to enter her own bedroom. But she knew she didn’t mind. Not really, anyway.

And so Clarke entered.

It only took her a moment before her eyes fell to Lexa’s head that emerged from the side of the bed, her hair ruffled, messy and haphazard from sleep.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Clarke asked as she stayed by the doorframe. 

“No,” and Lexa turned over her shoulder, she pulled her gaze from the window and she met Clarke’s eyes. “Bad dreams,” Lexa finished.

“I can get you something,” Clarke said more quietly now. “Tea? Coffee?” and perhaps she felt a little saddened that she knew not what Lexa needed. 

“I’m ok,” and Lexa turned back to the window.

“Ok,” and Clarke bit her lip slightly as she looked away, as she tried to settle her thoughts. “I’ll let you g—”

“Wait,” and she looked up to see Lexa looking at her once more. “Can you stay?” 

And perhaps Clarke imagined it, perhaps she merely wanted to hear the want, the need, the plea in Lexa’s voice. But perhaps simply wanting it was enough for her in this moment. 

“Ok,” and Clarke let her breath go in a shaky exhale as she began to move to Lexa’s side.

Lexa moved over a little though, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile as she knelt down carefully, her back coming to lean halfway into the warmth Lexa had left behind.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa began quietly, her eyes turning back to the window before them, to the way the moon shone quietly in the distance and to the way the snow never seemed to find solid ground in its journey from the skies.

“For what?” Clarke asked.

“For taking so long to remember,” Lexa said. 

“You don’t have to apologise, Lexa,” Clarke said. 

“Maybe I don’t,” Lexa whispered. “But I want to.”

And Lexa paused then, and Clarke thought Lexa had more to say, had more to voice. And so it didn’t surprise her when Lexa sighed forcefully, when she took in a deep breath.

Lexa turned to her once more then, and Clarke saw her eyes become a little open, a little worried and unsure.

“Can—” and Lexa choked on the words she tried to form. “Can I hold your hand?”

And Clarke smiled. And she didn’t think it a happy thing, she didn’t think it a relieved thing, either. But perhaps she thought the smile that spread across her lips was hopeful. And so she reached out carefully, her hand slow in its approach, and Clarke looked down to see Lexa meet her half way.

And Clarke couldn’t help but feel her lip tremble, she couldn’t help but feel her heart begin to beat more furiously in her chest as Lexa wove their fingers together, as Lexa seemed to try to settle into the gesture.

“I miss this,” Lexa said simply. 

“I do, too,” and Clarke let her gaze fall to the window once more. 

“I’m sorry I forgot so much,” Lexa said. 

And Clarke knew she heard the pain in her voice, she knew she heard the frustration, too.

“I am, too,” and perhaps the truth was what they needed.

But Lexa hummed out an answer, something distant, something not so present. And as Clarke looked back to her, she was sure Lexa’s mind elsewhere.

“If they don’t come back,” Lexa continued, and Clarke knew she spoke of memories, of times shared, moments had.

“They will,” Clarke added quietly.

She felt Lexa squeeze her hand though. 

“If they don’t,” and Lexa took a steadying breath. “Can we make new ones?”

“Of course,” and perhaps Clarke felt unsure of where Lexa went with her words. 

“Even after everyth—”

“Hey,” and perhaps Clarke sensed the doubt in Lexa’s voice. “We’re in this together, Lexa,” and Clarke shifted so that she sat in front of Lexa, so that Lexa couldn’t try to hide from her. “No matter what, I’m not going anywhere.”

But Clarke saw Lexa’s lip tremble, she saw Lexa’s eyes begin to water. 

“I feel like I’m letting us down,” Lexa whispered, and Clarke saw her eyes begin to roam her face. 

“You haven’t,” and Clarke squeezed Lexa’s hand once more. “I love you,” and Clarke watched as a tear fell down Lexa’s cheek. “I know I haven’t said it, and I wanted to give you space. But it’s true.” 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispered once more. 

“We have our whole lives ahead of us, Lex,” and Clarke smiled behind the tears she felt blurring her own gaze now.

“But sti—”

“Hey,” Clarke whispered.

And she reached out tentatively, slowly, carefully enough that Lexa could move, could lean away from the gesture. But she didn’t. And so Clarke let her finger brush the tear away from Lexa’s cheek.

“But everything I’m missing, all those memories,” Lexa countered. 

“We can make new ones, Lex,” and Clarke smiled, and she nodded to herself. And perhaps it hurt that Lexa struggled to recall, struggled to remember. But perhaps the thought of new memories, of new moments to share, wasn’t so daunting, wasn’t so sad. 

If only because Clarke could share them with Lexa.

“We can have our firsts again,” Clarke continued. “First dates, first sleepovers,” and she smiled as Lexa’s eyes rolled. “First kisses,” and Clarke took a moment to think before continuing. “And if and when your memories come back? Then that’s ok, too. Because we’ll have two sets of firsts. And isn’t that special? Who else gets to have firsts twice?”

Lexa nodded quietly though, and Clarke was sure she saw a hope begin to flare up in the other woman’s gaze. 

But both women turned to the sounds of feet padding quietly across the floor, and Clarke felt her lips turn up slightly as she saw Bruce making his way to them through the dark, his tail swishing back and forth quietly before he settled himself between them.

“I didn’t wake him, did I?” Lexa whispered.

“No,” and Clarke smiled a little as she ran a hand through Bruce’s hair. “He’s ok,” and she shrugged a little.

“He’s not so bad,” Lexa said after a moment though, and Clarke looked up to see Lexa holding Bruce’s gaze for a long moment.

“What do you mean?” 

“I know he isn’t a meat eating horse,” and Lexa looked up to meet Clarke’s gaze then, and perhaps this time Clarke was sure Lexa’s eyes held firm and steady. “But Bruce is a real dog.”

“Yeah,” and Clarke felt the smile begin to settle more comfortably across her lips. And perhaps in that moment Clarke felt that despite the pain, things would turn out for the best. “He is.”


End file.
